


Blue and Gray

by LoungingLux33



Category: Polar (2019)
Genre: Cabin Fic, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hardcore, Rescue, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Winter, assassins need love too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27420877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoungingLux33/pseuds/LoungingLux33
Summary: When her new neighbor moves into the empty cabin on the other side of the lake from her, solitary Cara takes an immediate interest in him. It leads them both down a dark path, but where will they end up?
Relationships: Duncan Vizla | Black Kaiser/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	1. New Neighbor

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired by Polar to imagine what it would be like as a character similar to, but not exactly, the female character in the graphic novel/movie. This is a story from her point of view, with bursts of story from Duncan's point of view in italics. I hope you enjoy Chapter 1!

He moved into the cabin across the lake one gray afternoon, with just a duffel bag and cardboard box of belongings to his name. His busted old truck rolled up the road along the lake and stopped at the empty cabin, about 150 yards from my house at the top of the hill, cresting the lake.

I was on the porch sorting firewood when he parked, and stopped what I was doing to see who my new neighbor would be. When he got out of the truck, I watched him to see if I could give him a wave hello, but he just continued on, carrying his box into the house without another glance my way.

I sighed to myself. _I guess he’s not interested in getting to know his neighbors_.

*

_He spotted her as he drove up the path to park outside his new home, on her porch and loading firewood into her arms. She was tall, with dark hair flowing from under her hat and bright eyes that landed on him as soon as she spotted his truck._

_Don’t, he thought to himself. Especially when she smiled at him in greeting._

_Just don’t._

_He turned his back to kick his truck door shut and carried his things through the cabin door, retreating into the darkness inside without a backward glance at her._

_Once the door was closed, he rested his back against the door and took a moment to himself before turning on the lamp and getting down to the business making his new home livable._

*

The next day, I was walking to my car after getting groceries in town and spotted him across the street, walking into the hardware store.

He looked directly at me and stared as if he knew me. I wanted to give a wave but didn’t have enough hands, so I gave him a smile instead.

And again, I got nothing in return.

*

_The sidewalk was empty, thankfully, so he could go to the hardware store in peace to get the tools he needed to fix the leaky bathroom sink._

_But just as he was about to open the door, something caught his eye across the street and made him turn._

_There she was, getting into her Jeep with her arms full of groceries, already looking at him with a hopeful smile._

_Her eyes really were bright, he noticed; distractingly so. But instead of stopping, he continued right into the hardware store._

*

A few days later, I stood in the kitchen washing dishes - my kitchen window faced his cabin directly - when he came out from his house to chop some firewood. _Well now_ , I thought to myself, _dinner and a show_.

He turned out to be extremely fit, and adept at firewood chopping to boot. I took him in now that I had the time, and I was... impressed. The way his salt and pepper hair fell in his eyes when he moved, his broad shoulders, it all added up to a nice package. And damn if he didn’t have perfect posture too.

I got lost in my daydreaming until the dishwater went cold. With a tut, I shut it off, reaching for a towel to dry and warm my hands. But when I glanced back out the window, he was looking right at me. I froze - it had to be 50 yards or more separating us, and the window... could he see me?

I got my answer when he raised a hand in greeting.

Surprised, I gave a small wave back with a nervous grin. But it was no use: he’d turned back around to haul his firewood into his house and closed the door with finality.

Well. It was a start.

*

_The newly fixed fireplace required fuel after a few days, so he went out into the snow and began chopping, willing himself not to look up and see if she was there._

_He wanted her to be there, he realized. Then he cursed himself for wanting her to be there._

_So he put his head down and lost himself in the work of splitting log after log, forcing himself to focus on the growing burn in his shoulders and back instead of on the porch on the opposite side of the lake._

_When he had a sizable pile he tossed the ax into the chopping block and stood, unable to stop himself from looking directly into the window that lit up in her cabin against the dark of the twilight. And there she was, framed in the window and staring right back at him._

_He allowed himself one simple gesture - a small wave of recognition - and felt his stomach drop when she gave a small wave back, her face tightening in a nervous smile._

_He had no other choice but to return to the safety of his cabin once more, before he went too far. On the other side of his door, he wondered if she was as disappointed in him as he was with himself in that moment._

*

Later that weekend, I’d gone to the drug store for cold medicine, when who walked in but my new neighbor.

I got my first good up close look at him as he entered and realized: he was very handsome. He stood a full head taller than me, and carried himself like a former dancer, with perfect posture.

His eyes were a kind brown, under a strong brow. His salt and pepper hair was topped with a shock of gray at the crown of his head, parted neatly and brushed back. A dated-looking mustache framed his mouth - it was the only thing that kept him from being _too_ handsome. Or maybe it made him more approachable, along with the stubble on his chin and cheeks. But his cheeks were what caught my eye most of all: you could cut glass with his cheekbones.

To my surprise, he recognized me and gave a nod as he stood in front of the aspirin a few feet away.

He nodded first? _What the hell, here goes_ , I thought.

“Hi.”

He glanced over, clearly not looking to talk.

“Hello.”

“You just moved in next door, right?” I asked, sniffling and picking up a bottle of nighttime cough syrup.

He nodded, not turning from his aspirin. “Yes.” His voice was smoky, gruff. Sexy.

I nodded to myself. He didn’t give me much to work with.

“I’m Cara,” I offered, facing him to initiate a real conversation.

He seemed to weigh whether he should engage or not.

“Duncan.”

I smiled at his opening up, however slightly.

“Welcome to town, Duncan.”

He nodded, “Thanks.”

And with that, he selected his aspirin and turned, leaving me standing alone with my cough medicine.


	2. Chopping Lessons

The sky was a dull gray, the sun setting just below the horizon behind the thick cloud cover that had dumped another 4 inches of snow throughout the day.

I had been burning extra wood in the stove to stay warm through the snowstorm, but now that it passed, I had no choice but to bundle up and head out to chop some more to keep me warm through the night.

Trekking through a blanket of white that came up just past my boots, I found the axe handle poking up out of the snow near the chopping block and picked it up.I struggled through wiping off the top of the block and dug through the snow with gloved hands to find the pile nearby, fishing out a few logs and lining the first one up.

Winding back and hauling the axe over my shoulder, I clipped the edge of the log and nearly went tumbling headfirst into the snow with the failed swing. Laughing to myself, I lined it up for a second try, swung once again and knocked just a bit more off, splintering the log into two wonky pieces that were way too large on one end and too small on the other.

I sighed and tossed them back towards the door where I could try to make the most of them, and reached for a second log. As I lined it up, Duncan came out of his house in full winter gear, trudging through the snow resolutely around the lake and towards me.

He never smiles, I thought to myself as I stopped and watched him. Was he going to lecture me? He seemed like a quiet guy, not too quick to anger; what was my poor chopping doing to annoy him?

As he neared, he extended a gloved hand and spoke with that gruff voice I’d only ever heard utter single words like “Hello” and “Yes” or “Duncan”:

“Let me have the axe.”

I flipped it around so the handle faced him and handed it over wordlessly. He squared up in front of the log and looked down at it then back up at me, those brown eyes filled with a warmth I hadn’t noticed before.

“When you swing, try to lead with your leg and line it up; that way your body knows where to point,” he explained, watching my reaction to see if I understood.

I smiled at him, pleased with his sudden warmth.

“Like this,” he said, with a great heaving wind-up and swing square down the center of the log. It split easily, like a twig, and fell away perfectly, leaving the block clear for the next log, which he expertly lifted from the snow and placed with one hand.

I jumped at the sound it made and at his power; he had an energy I couldn’t help but be turned on by.

“See? Here, you try,” he said as he handed me the axe, handle-first.

I looked down uncertainly and accepted it, and changed my stance to match his. It took me a few tries of looking at him then back at my feet, then switching my stance back and forth in confusion. When I looked up again, my whole body went warm when I found him watching me and _smiling_.

He finally smiled!

I returned the smile and squared my shoulders like he’d shown, then wound back and brought the axe down hard, nearly dead center this time.

I leapt into the air and gave a whoop at the sight of two pieces of almost-perfectly split wood toppling off the block, and looked up to find him smiling even more.

“I did it!” I couldn’t help but shout with joy.

He nodded, his smile half hidden under that scruffy facial hair of his, “You did it. Now do it again.”

He reached down and placed a new log on the block, then stepped back and watched with interest. I took a few extra moments to focus again now that I had an audience, but followed his advice and once more split the log right down the middle.

Again and again he set them up and I split them, working up a sweat and creating a healthy pile of firewood that I stopped and admired after a while.

“That should do it,” I gasped as I dropped the axe for a final time and stepped back, panting for air.

He nodded approvingly, “Can I help you get it inside?”

The kindness of it struck me. A simple thing, but it stood out, how polite he was to ask.

“That would be great, thanks.”

With a nod and not another word, he began collecting the chopped wood in his arms, and I moved quickly to keep pace with him.

Once we'd gathered all the wood, I turned back to the cabin and stomped the snow off my boots before stepping in. Duncan followed suit, respectfully pausing at the door and waiting to be invited in.

The cat took off to the bedroom when he spotted my guest. When I turned back around I could see why he did; Duncan was pretty intimidating. I wasn’t used to seeing such a large man in my space, it was jarring.

“Come on in, the woodpile is next to the fireplace over here,” I nodded to the inactive fireplace and walked over, depositing my collection.

As I shook the snow off my coat to slip out of it, Duncan dropped off his pile and examined the cold fireplace.

“You haven’t turned it on yet?” he asked over his shoulder.

After all this speaking, I noticed he had an accent. It was very endearing.

“No, to be honest I can’t get it to work and with the storm I couldn’t get anyone out here to fix it,” I explained as I took my hat off and tousled my hair.

“I’ve been using the oven to stay warm. Slept in the kitchen last night,” I admitted sheepishly.

He turned his whole body now to face me, incredulous. “The kitchen?”

I shrugged.

He turned back to the fireplace in silence and stuck his whole body into it, examining the situation.

I tsked, “Please, Duncan, you don’t have to go to any trouble...”

A few moments later, with a grunt and a loud metallic clang, he re-emerged, slightly sooty but satisfied. “Your flue was stuck. It should work now.”

I glanced over his shoulder and back at him in disbelief. “That’s it? How...”

He tossed a few logs in and struck a match from the mantle, and within moments the fire was growing. He watched as the flames swallowed the logs entirely.

I liked the way the sparks reflected in his eyes.

Suddenly he turned, as if snapping out of it, and made his way for the door, speaking brusquely as he did.

“Now you don’t need to sleep in the kitchen.”

I followed him like a lost dog for a few paces, dumbstruck and stuttering, searching for the words.

“Thank you, Duncan, that’s so kind of you, I...”

But before I could finish my sentence, he was gone, closing the front door behind him, leaving nothing but the faint smell of cigarette smoke.

I stood frozen at the threshold, mouth still open with no words left. Dropping my hands to my sides, I finished my sentence:

“... really appreciate it.”

*

The next day I went into town for groceries and stopped at the diner for a hot meal before heading back home. Halfway through my sandwich, the door jingled open and Duncan walked in.

We made eye contact as he entered, and while I offered him a small smile, he remained stone faced but sat down one stool away.

Like a deer, I didn’t want to spook him, so I didn’t say anything for a while. We simply sat in silence as I finished my meal and he sipped on his coffee and read a paper someone had left on the counter before him.

The waitress came to clear my plate, so I ordered a coffee of my own just to have a reason to stay longer.

When his food arrived, he finally spoke, in that same gruff voice, without looking at me. “Fireplace still working?”

I looked at him and smiled gently, to see if he’d make eye contact - no dice. So I looked back down at my coffee and replied, smile fading, “Yes it’s like new now, thank you.”

He didn’t reply, simply offered a half nod in recognition as he took another bite of his sandwich and stared into the middle distance.

“So.. what do you do?” I asked gently, by way of making conversation.

He turned to look at me for the first time since he walked in, his gaze traveling over me from head to toe. I was slightly put out by it.

He didn’t reply until he turned away, looked back at his plate and picked up the last of his sandwich: “I’m retired.”

“Well what _did_ you do?” I wasn’t about to let him off that easily.

He paused - not annoyed, really, just... thoughtful - and swallowed. “I was in the funeral business.”

“Oh.”

That was not surprising. Seeing as how he could barely speak to a human, it was no wonder he was used to hanging out with dead people all day.

“How about you? What do you do?” he asked before taking a final bite of his sandwich.

I smiled - he was getting good at conversation. “I’m a photographer. But it’s hard to sell my photos here so I teach a few photography classes at the library.”

He nodded, quiet. I continued:

“It’s nice - no pressure, but sometimes I wish I could travel more to take other pictures. Maybe to New York or LA...” I shrugged, trailing off. He didn’t want to hear about my gripes, I was sure.

He lit up a cigarette after his meal - I watched him spark the lighter and inhale. I hated cigarettes, but the way he held one... it was downright sensual. His mouth was like a closed switchblade. I found myself lost in thought looking at his lips as he exhaled, the cloud of smoke curling around his jaw and swirling...

He turned and caught me staring, and I guiltily looked away, unable to hide my smile. “You shouldn’t smoke, it’s not good for you.”

He laughed. For the first time, I heard his laugh, and it was incredible.

“I figure it won’t kill me.”

I shrugged with a smile and left it at that. A laugh from him was enough to make me happy.

“You have an interesting accent. Where are you from?” I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.

He weighed his response. “Europe. But I traveled all over.”

“How many countries have you been to?”

“99.”

He had to be joking. But his face remained stoic as he took a drag of his cigarette. 

“I don’t even think I know 99 countries.”

He looked over with a small smile. “Angola, Albania, Austria, Australia, Azerbaijan, Afghanistan, Armenia, Argentina, Algeria, Andorra. There’s 10. And that’s just the A’s.”

He was in a chatty mood, apparently. So I pressed on. “Do you know any other languages?”

“Eight.”

I was impressed, but wasn’t going to be one of those people that asked a person to repeat phrases in other languages.

“Wow. You should teach a class at the library,” I offered instead.

He took another drag off his cigarette and considered my words.

“Yeah?”

“Sure. Most people here haven’t been outside this town, let alone another country. They don’t even know the world exists. You could teach them what it’s like in other countries.”

He seemed to consider it. While he wasn’t lighting up like a Christmas tree, he didn’t seem to hate the idea either. He shrugged and looked back down at his empty dish, distracted by some hidden thought.

Then suddenly, it was like a switch was flicked in his brain, and he was done speaking. He looked for the waitress and couldn’t find her. Standing, he reached into his wallet and dropped a $20 on the counter.

I opened my mouth to speak but before I could get a word out, he spoke gruffly.

“Well. Enjoy the rest of your coffee,” he said with a nod, and turned out the door.

I sighed and felt slightly sick to my stomach - did I say something wrong? He was so unreadable.

By the time I got home that night I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, so I ran a hot bath and poured myself an extra large glass of wine to stop thinking about the mistakes I must have made at the diner that day.

As I sunk into the water with my second glass, the warmth relaxed me. It was the only warmth I’d get, I thought bitterly. Dating was a joke in this town, but I had no means to get out anytime soon, so I was left with that familiar hopeless, desperate feeling in my gut.

Just once I wanted to know what it felt like in his arms. He was taller than me, so I’d probably fit perfectly, with my head tucked under his chin. One second the thought warmed me, and then suddenly a wave of sadness washed over me; it was never going to happen.

The tears welled up in my eyes - and I didn’t try to stop them. They spilled out into hot little rivers that flowed down my cheeks and into the water as the loneliness crept into my bones, heavy and stale.

I was grateful that I’d put music on so I didn’t have to hear my own sobs echo off the walls. I felt so foolish in that moment, crying in a bathtub about a man I knew nothing about. I was probably only infatuated with him because he was new and unknown.

But the more I thought about him, the more I needed to know. Another sob escaped my throat and I covered my face with one hand, wineglass in the other. Bathwater mixed with tears as I downed the last of the wine and sank deeper into the steaming water, grateful for the blissful silence I found under the surface.

*

_He walked into the diner and found her there, sitting hunched over her plate and keeping to herself._

_But once she saw him walk in, her whole demeanor changed - and his heart pounded against his chest at the realization:_ she was happy to see him _._

 _So he played it cool. She was intent on making conversation, though, and before he knew it, he was telling her more about himself than he’d told anyone in years. Where he was from, where he’d been... the only thing he did manage to keep to himself was the fact that he was only_ technically _in the funeral business._

_But she was insistent, and happy - her smile lit up the whole diner when he told her how many languages he spoke. He felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of it. But when she continued and talked about getting him into teaching, he knew he had to shut it down._

_He was almost too happy at the thought of sharing something like that with her. It was good. Too good. Not worth the pain it would inevitably bring both of them._

_So he left abruptly, didn’t even give her a chance to say goodbye. He felt bad when he drove away, but he had no choice._

_He picked up an old black and white movie from the rental kiosk on his way home and locked himself up in his cabin early that night with a bottle of whiskey. He fell asleep in the blue glow of the TV as the clumsy schoolteacher fell for the local shopkeeper in 1950’s Connecticut. When he woke, the tv was static and the pit in his stomach over leaving her in the diner was still there._

_So he poured himself the last of the bottle and went to bed._


	3. Mr. Fix-It

A few days later another storm swept in, this time with lashing rain and sleet. I did my best to hunker down but as I slept, the wind whipped a tree branch against my bedroom window and woke me up in the middle of the night with a crash. I shot out of bed to find broken glass and a branch next to my bed, with rain pouring in and soaking the bed underneath it.

“Noo!!” I shouted in desperation, stranded momentarily, trying to stay dry.

I leapt out of bed, put my boots on then ran to the window and tried unsuccessfully to shove the branch back out. The glass crunched under my boots and the sleet quickly soaked me as it blew right in.

Flustered, I grabbed my coat and rushed out into the storm to pull the branch out first; it turned out to be more difficult than I expected. I gave a shout of frustration as I finally managed to yank it out, but as I did, the lights in Duncan’s house across the way turned on and caught my eye.

I dragged the branch away from the house and checked out the damage; as I did, I found him jogging to meet me.

“The damn branch broke my bedroom window,” I said by way of a greeting as I kicked the leftover branches out of the way.

He looked down at the branch then back at the window. “Do you have a tarp, or plastic?” he shouted over the storm, wind ruffling his hair.

I shook my head, “No.”

“Get back inside where it’s warm,” he instructed as he turned to jog back to his house.

I obeyed and began cleaning up the broken glass with a dustpan, when he returned with an industrial looking roll of plastic tarp, a roll of duct tape and a staple gun that looked like it could kill a man.

“Whoa,” I replied as he came through the door, a man on a mission.

Wordlessly, he walked into my bedroom and got to work stapling each corner of the plastic to the four corners of the window frame, taping the edges to seal them entirely and keep the sleet from pouring in.

I threw away the last of the glass and brought towels for the floor just as he finished his work.

“You’re a lifesaver, thank you,” I said when he turned to face me.

I threw the towels down at his feet to soak up the puddles then offered him one and kept one for myself, drying off as he replied, “You’re welcome.”

A man of few words.

He looked at the towel and nodded in thanks to me, then began to dry off his hair and face. He wasn’t running away like the last time, so I took the opportunity.

“I’m usually not this helpless, I swear. But thank you for all the help these last few weeks.”

He stopped toweling and avoided looking at me, his eyes glued to a spot on the floor. “It’s no problem.”

I watched him as I tried soaking up the puddle that had formed where I slept in the bed. He seemed to hesitate just for a moment before he spoke.

“Its a good thing your fireplace works,” he said as he nodded at my soaking wet bed.

I froze - he was starting the conversation now? Okay.

“How so?” I smiled lightly as I began stripping the bed of the soaked linens and walked out to the laundry room with them.

He followed and stopped in the living room while I worked. “With your bed soaked, you’ll need to sleep in the living room to stay warm.”

I nodded with a smile as I tossed everything into the dryer, “You have an excellent point.”

He smiled in spite of himself - clearly he wasn’t used to making conversation but he was enjoying the attempt.

As if he realized his opportunity, he moved to start a fire quickly, poking at the logs as they started to smoke and glow.

When I emerged from the laundry room I stopped and found him standing there with the fire. “Duncan, thank you.”

He nodded silently and moved for the door, his purpose apparently served.But this time I was able to stop him: “Wait, hey...”

He stopped, looked at me almost in surprise. To be honest, I shocked myself. But I had nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

“Can I offer you a beer or something to repay you?" I asked with a kind smile.

His mouth opened as if to reply but nothing came out. Did I break him?Talking to him really was like approaching a deer, I thought to myself - it had to be done gently and with as little movement as possible or else he’d get spooked and take off.

Finally he replied, searching for the words, “Don’t you need some sleep?”

I glanced at the clock: 4:26 AM.

I shrugged, “With what blankets? They’re all soaked.” With or without him, I was resolved now to have my beer, and walked over to the kitchen to open the fridge.

“May as well start my day early,” I said as I opened up two beers and held one out to him with a laugh: it felt like I was trying to entice a wild animal with food. He stepped forward tentatively, finally accepting the bottle with a nod.

Before I took a sip, I clinked his bottle with mine in a toast: “To surviving.”

He froze and stared at me as if I just guessed some huge secret, his face incredulous. “Surviving,” he repeated with a nod, never taking his eyes off me as he raised his bottle to his lips.

I returned the look and sipped my beer, and he followed suit. As I savored the first sip, I glanced over at the chairs by the now roaring fireplace; “Care to join me by the fire?”

He watched as I took one of the big overstuffed chairs and put my feet up on the ottoman before the fire. I motioned with the beer, “Come on over. I don’t bite.”

He did as I asked, not sharing the ottoman but instead sitting quite rigidly in the chair, like he refused to let his guard down.

“You seem tense,” I said gently.

He glanced at me warily and seemed to consider his next words.

“It’s been a while since I’ve...” he began, then stopped and looked into the fire.

“I’m just not used to this.”

I couldn’t help but laugh lightly. “Talking? Being around people, making friends?”

He looked back at me, his eyes slightly softer than they were just moments earlier. “All of it.”

I paused - that was quite sad, really - and sat back in silence, sipping my beer.

When I spoke again, I looked at the fire too. It was roaring and mesmerizing. My eyes burned with sudden exhaustion. “Well for what it’s worth, you’re doing great,” I said as I broke from my trance and looked at him.

He was looking at me with such intensity that I lost my train of thought and trailed off, “So... yeah.”

With that out of the way, we both looked at the fire now, seemingly content to sit in silence and watch the dancing flames.

“You like it here?” he asked, his voice warmer now.

It was the first question he asked on his own. I half smiled at him for a beat, letting it sink in, and shrugged, “I do. It’s quiet. Me and the cat, and the trees and my camera.”

He nodded. I tried to gauge his reaction when I asked, “How about you?”

He thought for a moment, then replied genuinely, “I like it. Nice to finally have some peace.”

I examined my beer thoughtfully, interested in his background. But I knew I wouldn’t get anywhere by asking him directly. So I took a different approach. “The funeral business wasn’t quiet enough?”

His defenses went back up. He seemed to remember a painful memory before he replied, “No.”

I realized now I should back off - he was going through something and I didn’t want to pry. But he saw my face fall and replied quietly, “I may not be from around here. But I’m here now, and I’m here for good.”

I lightened up. That answer sat just right with me. It may have been the beer settling in my gut but it made me happy to hear he wasn’t going anywhere. I nodded and raised my bottle a second time: “To staying for good.”

He smiled, the corner of his mouth quirked in an endearing grin, and a flush of heat flowed through my body at the sight of it. “To staying,” he echoed, clinking my bottle with his and downing the last of his beer.

I followed suit and put the empty on the floor next to me, then settled into the chair to watch the fire. The ice and sleet pelted the side of the cabin noisily in powerful gusts, no match for the heat from the fire and the warm contentment I felt with him nearby.

I don’t know how long we sat there, but I must have nodded off, because the next thing I knew, I woke up alone. The sun was up and the fire was nothing but embers before me. The chair next to me was empty, like the two beer bottles on the kitchen counter beyond it.

Well, shit.

But I was covered in a blanket - one from the dryer, which had stopped. He... covered me up?

As I sat up and gathered my bearings, I looked in the bedroom and found the bedding from the dryer folded neatly and stacked on the dry corner of the bed. And the bottles were on the kitchen counter because he didn’t know where my recycling bin was.

Apparently he let me sleep while he did some cleaning before he left.

What an interesting man, I thought to myself. 


	4. Picture Perfect

After a long session shooting photos in the woods, my camera battery was nearly dead and so were my feet, thanks to the slushy puddles I’d stepped in accidentally.

When I shlepped my way back out of the forest and made it to the clearing where our cabins stood, I was pleased to find Duncan sitting on his porch - _not_ smoking.

When he spotted me, I gave him a small wave and a smile. As I approached, I was struck by how his all-black ensemble stood out against the white of the snow from the angle I was at.

He watched as I stopped briefly to line him up in my lens for a quick snapshot. Once I was sure I’d gotten it, I continued on and met him. He was actually smiling already.

“Why did you take my picture?” he asked. He wasn’t angry, but instead sounded interested.

I got closer to him and showed him the preview on my camera’s screen. I could feel his warmth through my coat. He smelled like mint and leather and something I couldn’t place but recognized as completely male. It gave my stomach a flutter.

He glanced at the tiny screen as I explained, “You looked so stark against the snow.”

With an appreciative eyebrow, he looked back at me. “That was just now?”

I laughed lightly, “Yes.”

“It’s very good.” He spoke quietly as he looked back at it, genuinely impressed.

I flushed. “Thank you.”

Realizing I was still in his personal space, I took one step back.

“Is that what you were doing in the forest?” He nodded at the camera.

I nodded.

“Can I see?”

This surprised me. But in a good way.

“Sure,” I said, setting up the screen so he could scroll through the images. I stepped closer again and caught his scent once more when I handed him the camera. “Just press this button to scroll,” I explained.

As he did, smiling at one or two shots, I decided to sit next to him on the step and watch.

He scrolled, mesmerized. A shot of a stag in the forest made him pause. The animal stood off center, staring at the camera, a huge rack of antlers atop its head. It was beautiful, the pale tan fur practically glowing against the white snow and dark branches.

“Can I have a copy of that?” he asked.

I was surprised, but obliged. “Of course. The next time I order some prints I’ll frame one up for you.”

He looked pleased and continued scrolling. But then he’d worked his way through the afternoon’s shots and landed on one I forgot I’d taken the night before: a long range shot of Duncan asleep in his armchair, a candle on the table next to him lighting up one side of his face.

He froze. I squirmed. Now he’s going to think I’m some stalker, I thought.

Instead of asking what happened, he simply glanced over at me, his face neutral.

I figured the truth would be best and stared at the picture as I spoke. “I woke up and the glow of the candle caught my eye. So I grabbed my camera and...”

I finally looked at him sheepishly and was surprised to find him smiling. “This is beautiful work.”

A rush of heat brought some color to my cheeks and I stood up in a hurry to hide it. “Thank you.”

He looked at a few more photos and landed on one I’d taken of the flowers my friend had sent me for my upcoming birthday. His demeanor changed, like a cloud passing over his face.

“Pretty flowers,” he said gruffly.

I smiled, “They’re for my birthday on Friday, my friend sent them.”

He stared at them, his eyes suddenly cold.

“Nice of your friend.”

It finally struck me: he was jealous! I knew exactly what to say.

“She thought it’d be nice since I haven’t dated anyone in so long.”

His breath quickened and his face shifted almost imperceptibly; he was happy to hear this. To hide his smile, he handed the camera back to me and stood.

I slipped the strap over my neck once more and knew it was time for me to quit while I was ahead.

“Stay warm, there’s more snow coming tonight,” I said as I turned.

“You too,” he called.

I walked the rest of the way around the lake back to my place with a silly grin on my face.

*

A few days later, I spent much of the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep for some reason. Finally at 2:30 am, I went out into the living room to do some work when I noticed that Duncan’s light was still on.

Walking to the window, I glanced out and was surprised to see him through his window, in the same chair I’d spotted him asleep in a few nights prior. He was awake this time, reading something on a laptop.

I flicked the nearby lamp on, and sure enough, he glanced up in surprise at the glow.

When he spotted me in the window, I raised my hand and gave a small wave and a half smile.

He waved back, his face blank.

I made the sign for “sleep” by tucking my hands in prayer under my ear and closing my eyes, then drew my finger across my neck and shrugged: I can’t sleep.

He smiled faintly, motioned to himself and gave a reluctant shrug: me too.

Then, out of nowhere, he motioned for me to come over, his eyebrows raised.

Stupidly, I pointed at myself: me?

He nodded: yes you, come on.

I held up a finger and ran to slip into my boots and coat, grabbing a bottle of wine and a deck of cards on my way out.

By the time I got there, he was standing at his open door.

“Can’t sleep?” I asked as I climbed his porch steps. I waved the wine and the cards.

“Not tonight. Come in.” He stepped back to invite me in.

It was my first time in his cabin - and it was so sparse, I wondered if he really even lived there.

While he had the same floor plan as I did, he only had one large sofa and a small recliner, the one I’d seen him sleeping in earlier in the week. A little card table nearby served as his dining room, and his fireplace was going. His bedroom and kitchen were in shadows, but I had the distinct impression that he was a man who didn’t want to get too comfortable. 

“Still unpacking?” I asked, hoping that maybe it would open another conversation.

He looked around, slightly confused. “No.”

Ah.

He motioned to the card table that served as his dining room, so I joined him there and began shuffling my deck of cards. “Poker?” I held up the cards with raised eyebrows.

He nodded and took his seat. I dealt us both in and we proceeded to play hand after hand, gambling with pennies and laughing at each other when a hand didn’t go the way we wanted, making small talk between each round. It was nice; he seemed to lighten up as the night went on, even bringing out beers for us at one point.

At one point, a chill crept up on me and I shivered, which he spotted. “Cold?”

I shrugged, “A little, it’s ok though.”

He nodded to the fire as he stood, “Why don’t you go have a seat by the fire, I have to use the bathroom but I’ll join you there when I’m done.”

I did, bringing the cards with me and setting them up on the coffee table out there. While I waited for him to finish in the bathroom, I leaned back into the pillows on the couch nearest the fire, and felt my eyes grow heavy. Just a few minutes, I thought to myself - I’ll wake up when he comes out and will excuse myself to go back home and finally go to bed.

That’s not how it happened though.

When I opened my eyes again, the room was bright - it was morning??

I sat up quickly, panicked, looking for Duncan so I could apologize. He wasn’t in the living room. But I heard a cabinet close in the kitchen. So I wrapped myself in the blanket I’d been covered in (he covered me up again?) and wandered into the kitchen to find him cooking at the oven, his back to me.

“I’m so sorry,” I started with.

He turned, an amused smile on his face when he found me, wrapped in his blanket and standing at his kitchen door with sleep still in my eyes and my hair mussed up.

“Good morning.”

His voice was warm. I smiled in relief, dropped my fear.

“Good morning.”

He turned back to the stovetop to continue cooking his eggs, “What are you sorry for?”

I walked in and rested against the window so I could see him. “For crashing on your couch like a freeloader.”

He flipped the eggs one last time. “You don’t have to apologize. Why go back out in the cold to go to bed?”

His logic was kind of solid, I had to admit.

I shrugged, “I just... I didn’t mean to invade your space.”

Toast popped out of a toaster I hadn’t noticed before and made me jump. He smiled at my jumpiness and portioned the eggs out on two waiting plates.

“If you were invading my space...” he said as he added the toast and turned to face me, “...I’d tell you.”

I smiled. He was being nice, even if he wouldn’t crack a smile.

He looked down at the plates in his hands, “Breakfast?”

He went from not even making eye contact to making me breakfast.

“I.. sure,” I said, following him out to the little table.

Once he put our plates down he disappeared back into the kitchen and reappeared with two huge mugs of coffee. “Black, right?”

I paused. He remembered from the one time he saw me at the diner. What a remarkable man.

“Yes, thanks.”

He nodded and sat down, sipping his coffee quietly.

After a few bites, I pulled the blanket tighter around myself and looked out the window.

“We’re supposed to get more snow later,” I mused.

He glanced up, almost surprised that I was making small talk. It felt strange if I thought about it: I was in this unsmiling stranger’s cabin after only knowing him for a few weeks and passing out on his couch... talking about the weather over breakfast _he_ made.

Realizing how strange it was, I looked back down at my food and picked at it, sipping my coffee in silence as he did the same.

“It does look like snow,” he replied a few full minutes later.

It was my turn to look surprised; was he trying to keep the conversation going? It took him that long to think of a small talk response?

I managed a smile. “I like that though, when the sky is gray, everything else is brighter.”

He looked out the window and tried to see what I was talking about; couldn’t. He gave a “Hmm,” and looked back down at his coffee, more silence to follow.

We ate the rest of our meal in silence, and I realized I’d overstayed my welcome so I set out to clean up and get the hell out. As I scraped the last of the crumbs off my plate into the garbage can, though, something caught my eye:

A half-full pack of Marlboros, crumpled up and abandoned.

Was he trying to quit after I told him he should at the diner last week?

I tsked internally for even giving myself that much credit, but still...

By the time I got home, I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face if I tried.


	5. Art Show

After trying to get accepted into a show for so long, some of my photos were finally accepted into a local art show in the next town, but realized I had no one to invite. After he’d expressed interest in my photos that day in the woods, I figured I’d go out on a limb and ask him if he’d like to come.

I had worked up just enough nerve to ask him one night, but I was so anxious - what if he said no? It would be so weird living next to this guy and knowing that I’d kind of asked him out but maybe it wasn’t really asking him out it was just inviting him to a place I was going to be at anyway…. I obsessed over and over about inviting him and finally decided to just go for it.

I marched over to his cabin and knocked on the door, flyer crumpled in my pocket.

When he answered the door, he seemed surprised to see me. I was determined not to let him distract me, with those brown eyes and sharp cheekbones. So I stumbled over my words trying to get them all out at once.

“I’m having an art show- well _I’m_ not really having an art show, my _photos_ are _in_ an art show. So it’s a photography show really, but they’ll have art too but it’s not like....“

His face was frozen, brow creased in apprehension. I stopped, took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. Hi.”

“Hello.”

“My pictures are going to be in an art show this weekend and I was wondering if you’d like to come, to see my pictures, in the show. Because you said you liked them when you saw them on the little camera screen and this will be like,” I held my hands up and expanded them like I was blowing something up and made a whooshing sound. “Bigger. So if you want. I can get you the info.”

His face was still frozen. His eyes wide.

My heart stopped. I’d really done it now.

Before I could say never mind, he finally found his voice.

“Yes.”

I did an actual double take.

“Yes?”

He blinked, nodded, “Yes of course. Thank you.”

I smiled, “That- no, thank _you_. Here,” I rushed, pulling the invite out of my pocket and handing it to him.

“Here’s the info, sorry it’s kind of wrinkled...”

He took the paper and glanced at it, then back up at me with a small smile.

He still seemed so unreadable - but now I knew he’d be at my show.

*

The night of the show, I stood next to the wall of my art, balanced on uncomfortable high heeled boots and tapping my nails against the glass of red wine I’d been sipping for the past half hour. It was my second glass, and as the hours ticked by with no sign of Duncan, I grew more and more fidgety and wine-prone.

I made polite conversation with people as they wandered by, smiled and nodded at passers by as they commented on my photos with their friends... all the while scanning the crowd for those familiar brown eyes.

Tap tap tap tap... sip. Tap tap tap tap... sip.

With a half hour to go and most of the crowd thinned out, I swore I felt the air in the room change and looked at the door: there he was, in a full suit, hair combed back and tie tucked into a crisp black suit jacket.

The room spun. I took in a deep breath, my mouth open in wonder; he was here and he was stunning. He shone like a movie star. My eyes were drawn to him like he was made of magnets.

When he turned and found me looking at him, he gave a small polite nod that made me dizzy. He was here and he was here for _me. And he’d dressed up_!

As he made his way through the crowd to meet me, I tried to calm my breathing. He moved closer and my heart beat faster. I thought I might pass out by the time he got to me. Judging by the way he fidgeted when he stopped before me, he felt the same nerves I did.

He looked down at my feet and back up, shy as the first day we met. I, on the other hand...

“You look incredible,” I blurted out.

He blushed furiously, cheeks going crimson instantly. I fumbled, “I mean your suit, it’s so... sharp.”

He gave one nod and never lifted his gaze from the floor, “Thank you, you too.”

Then he stopped, seemed to gather his thoughts. When he looked back up at me, he was trying, I could tell. “I mean, you look...”

His gaze settled on me, warm and wonderful. Unable to hide his awe, he finished his sentence as if he were ending a prayer: “... beautiful.”

My stomach leapt into my throat and back down - he thought I was beautiful! It was my turn to flush. “Thank you.”

He shifted nervously and changed the subject. “I’m sorry I’m late, I couldn’t...” he stopped as if he realized the truth was too embarrassing, but he’d come too far to backtrack now. So he finished, “... my dress shoes didn’t fit so I had to go buy new ones.”

It was almost too endearing. All I could muster was an appreciative smile and a, “You aren’t late at all.”

He seemed relieved at my reaction, and finally turned to the photos. “These are yours?”

I was grateful for the distraction. “Yes!”

I walked over to the photograph I’d taken of him and smiled, “There... you are.”

He followed with a faint smile as he got close to the photo, studied it. “There I am,” he murmured.

When he turned to find me, his eyes shone. “How much?”

I was confused. “How much?”

He nodded to the pictures, “For the photographs. The whole set?”

I looked at the wall, all 6 pieces, a black and white series of prints I did of my first few months there, and realized I’d pulled all of the photos that he’d liked when he looked at them the week earlier. The stag, the owl, him on his steps... they were his favorites. And they were mine too.

I looked back at him and smiled, “Well, you get a special discount for the whole set.”

His brow furrowed.

“Six for the price of one. And a 90% discount for being the subject of one of the pieces,” I finished.

His face fell when he realized I wasn’t going to take his money.

“One dollar, please.”

His smile spoke volumes.

“One whole dollar,” he said, digging in his back pocket without glancing away.

I nodded matter of factly. He opened his wallet and pulled out a single bill, placed it in my open hand.

“Oh!” I feigned surprise, slapping my forehead with the empty hand. He looked shocked.

“I almost forgot to give you your royalties!”

With that, I handed his dollar bill right back to him with a smile. He looked down at it and back at me, realizing he wouldn’t win this one, and smiled.

I could get used to that smile.


	6. "Little Friend"

At the end of my birthday, I had just finished cleaning up the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine when I heard a knock at the door.

It was Duncan, looking slightly nervous and holding a small blue box wrapped in ribbon.

“Hi Duncan,” I said with a smile, stepping back to invite him in.

He smiled back briefly and entered, looking down at the snow on his boots. “Happy birthday,” he said awkwardly, holding the box out like a bomb.

I laughed lightly and took it from him. “That’s so nice of you, thank you. Come on in, let me get your coat.”

He reluctantly shrugged out of his heavy jacket and I invited him into the kitchen where I poured him a glass of wine and we sat at the tiny table with the box before me.

He looked at it expectantly and up at me nervously once more, “Open it?”

It was endearing; he was so unaccustomed to being nice. I smiled and reached for the lid, lifting it to reveal a small plush black and white cat; a stuffed animal.

As I lifted it out of the box I saw the tag: it was an old Beanie Baby, one of the toys I used to collect as a little girl.

He’d gotten me a toy.

And when I looked up at him with a surprised smile, I found him smiling so hopefully and earnestly at me that my heart did a little flip flop in my chest.

“It’s so cute, Duncan, thank you!” I said, half in awe of the gift and half in awe of his adorable reaction.

“He looks like your cat,” he said, thrilled to explain himself.

I laughed in recognition. “He really does.”

He gently took the cat from my hands and turned it around to face me, then made the little paw wave at me, the smile on his face growing.

I stared at the little cat in wonder. “Hi, Kitty.”

I looked up and found him smiling at me under that scruffy facial hair, the corners of his brown eyes crinkling in happiness.

He handed the cat back to me and I pet its little head, admired its beady eyes.

“Did you do anything for your birthday?” he asked.

I glanced up, “I managed to get some photos of the old covered bridge from the lake, and just came back and warmed up with some leftovers.”

As I put the cat down and rested one hand on it, petting it absently, I toasted him with a pleased smile, “Now it’s wine time.”

His brow creased, “No cake?”

I laughed lightly, my face a question mark.

“You have to have cake on your birthday.”

I took a sip of my wine and smiled, “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”

He stood, surprising me. I looked straight up at him as he pushed his chair back in and declared, “Come on.”

I stood uncertainly, watching as he walked back into the living room and shrugged into his coat, “Get your boots. We’re getting you birthday cake.”

His unexpected playfulness energized me; I did as he instructed, and threw my coat on as he opened the door and ushered me out ahead of him.

“Wait!” I stopped dead in my tracks, shocking him.

I ran back to the kitchen table where I’d left my new kitty and grabbed him, stuffed him into my pocket and ran back to the door where Duncan stood, smirking.

“I couldn’t leave Kitty.”

To his truck we trudged through the snow, where he opened the door for me and climbed into the driver’s seat.

His face held a half-hidden smile the whole ride into town as we bumped over potholes and snow piles on nearly empty roads.

A few minutes later we walked into the diner, shaking snow off our boots and settling into a booth across from each other.

As the waitress busied herself getting us two cups of coffee, he jutted his chin towards the dessert case across from us behind the counter. “Birthday girl’s choice.”

Settling on a slice of vanilla cake with chocolate icing and rainbow sprinkles, I sat back down and felt a flush of heat as I took him in before me.

He was really very handsome, I realized. Now that I was facing him in the brighter lights of the diner and could stare without making it obvious, I could really see the details in his face.

His cheekbones were so sharp, and the stubble that covered his jaw shone like salt and pepper. I was even taken by the texture of his nubby turtleneck; everything about him made me want to touch him.

“You’re not getting any cake?” I asked.

“It’s not my birthday,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Hard to argue with that logic.

As we sipped on our coffee, I was content to sit in happy silence with him. He didn’t seem as nervous with me now; he’d certainly grown more comfortable over the weeks we’d gotten to know each other.

With a knowing smile, the waitress delivered a big slice of cake with one lit candle in the center. And placed two forks on the table between us before walking away to leave us to it.

I was so embarrassed, but as I tried to hide my face, he encouraged me, “Make a wish, quick.”

I forced a serious face and looked down at the little flame. When I looked back up at him, he had such a look of hope on his face.

That’s when I knew what to wish for.

Closing my eyes, I thought my wish to myself and blew out the candle with a smile.

“There you go, a proper birthday,” he said, so pleased with everything.

I laughed lightly as I took the candle out of the cake and tucked in, icing first. Nodding to the last fork, I told him, “Grab your weapon, sir, I can’t do this alone.”

He obliged and took one bite. As I savored my own, he made a face.

I laughed, “Problem?”

He chewed, his face screwed up: “It’s so sweet!”

Now I really laughed - he was even unaccustomed to eating sugar? What a trip.

I finished my cake and we enjoyed some conversation - he was getting better at this whole being a normal person thing. After we headed back home and he’d parked his truck between our houses as usual, I climbed out and met him at the front of his truck.

“Thank you, Duncan. You made today so special.”

He smiled so sweetly. “Happy birthday, Little Friend.”

He had a nickname for me! I broke into a huge grin and couldn’t help myself: I threw my arms around him for a hug.

He hesitated for the briefest of moments, but soon he had wrapped his arms around me and hugged me right back. I squeezed and marveled at how nicely I fit there.

When I pulled away I knew I had to end the night before I did something to spook him off or make him uncomfortable. “Have a good night, Duncan.”

His smile was so pleased - he hadn’t expected the night to end so well, but he wasn’t about to jinx it. “Good night.”

I turned and walked back to my house, fishing my keys from my coat pocket and feeling the stuffed cat when I did. I laughed to myself when I pulled it out and smiled at it. My cheeks went hot; I really did have a thing for this guy, didn’t I?

Just as I shook my head and closed the door behind me, I switched on the light and came face to face with a stranger: a giant of a man with dark hair and a full beard, a maniacal smile and a finger to his lips.

Before I could scream, someone who must have been hiding behind the door grabbed me from behind and covered my mouth and nose with a foul smelling rag.

I kicked and fought violently, overturning the lamp I’d just turned on, knocking over the chair and small card table by the window, but whoever had me was too strong, and the rag over my mouth must have been soaked in a chemical that made me sleepy, because I felt my limbs go weak even as I tried to resist.

The last thing I remembered before I lost consciousness was that I’d dropped my kitty.

_*_

_The following day, he woke in a good mood for the first time in months - years, maybe._

_After a quick workout and a light breakfast and coffee, he layered up for a trip into town. Maybe he’d find a record player or something *fun*, that she would enjoy if he invited her over._

_He hadn’t considered the possibility of meeting someone in retirement; hell, his whole life had been focused on avoiding people. But she was like a bright star that he found himself drawn to despite every cell in his body telling him it would only end badly._

_But why? he thought to himself. Why should it end badly? She smiled so much around him. That had to be good, right? And while he knew he didn’t speak much, she didn’t seem to mind that about him. She did enough talking for both of them._

_He smiled to himself as he walked to his truck, and glanced at her house as he always did, in the off chance he’d catch a glimpse of her in the window._

_But this time, he didn’t see her. He saw something much worse: the door open, window broken, and her cat sitting on the porch looking lost._

_He broke into a run, calling her name as he did, but knowing in the back of his mind that he was too late._

_They’d found a way to get to him._

_On her porch, he bent to usher the cat inside when he spotted the worst piece of evidence yet just inside the door: the stuffed cat he’d gotten her just yesterday. It lay on the floor next to overturned chairs and a broken lamp, one of her gloves discarded nearby._

_She was gone._

_The rage that bubbled up inside him threatened to rip him in half; the scream that he let out then caused the birds to take flight from the nearby trees._

_He had to find her._


	7. Taken

I drifted in and out of consciousness, not caring what happened next. The hope of ever getting out of the hellish prison I’d been stuck in for weeks was like a dream that faded faster the harder I tried to recall it.

Memories of my life before this ordeal flashed before my eyes like scenes from a movie:

Taking photos in the forest at the first snowfall.

Spotting Duncan for the first time through the lens of my camera.

Baking my first loaf of bread in my new home.

Duncan finally coming out of his cabin to help me chop firewood after watching me struggle through his kitchen window for days.

How he smiled for the first time when his firewood chopping lesson paid off and I split my first log.

The way his cigarette smoke curled around the curve of his cheek when I ran into him at the diner the following week and shared a nearly silent meal next to him.

How he laughed for the first time that same day, when I told him he should quit smoking.

How I noticed the half full pack of Marlboros in the trash the following week while I cleaned up after our first - and last - breakfast together.

The memories of my handsome, quiet, gruff neighbor brought me the most happiness, but after a while they also caused me the most distress. I’d never see him again, I knew it. And just when he’d given me a nickname: Little Friend.

We’d been neighbors for months; had only just started speaking to each other tentatively in the weeks before I was taken by whoever these people were and drugged into oblivion on a daily basis. But I’d grown to care about him and wanted to know more, to know everything about him.

Now, chained to this disgusting floor, I knew that would never happen.

The cocktail of drugs they had pumped into me regularly made me delirious and hallucinatory in turn, with lucid moments like these here and there. The pain I felt at losing the chance to explore the future was almost too much, and I welcomed the next dose of whatever they gave me.

Into the IV the liquid swirled, and I watched it sink down to the bottom of the bag and slowly into my veins as they left and locked the door. This time I felt my heartbeat pounding in my ears and consciousness became harder to hold on to; this was new.

Just as I felt myself slip once into darkness, I heard a commotion in the rooms outside of where I lay.

I turned my head to face the noise behind door and the whole room spun. Gunshots? Out in the hall? Were they fighting amongst themselves?

Running and screaming, return gunfire... no, this was someone else.

I tried to hide, but couldn’t muster the energy to move. The noises got louder and louder now, the shots more sporadic and footsteps getting closer. Was I hallucinating?

Before I could form my next thought, the door burst open again and I was gone, blackness everywhere.

In flashes, I watched the next few moments play out like lightning strikes:

A tall figure took two long strides into the room and paused above me, their shadow darkening the light I saw through my eyelids.

Boots... I knew those boots.

Now I knew I had to be hallucinating.

Red. He was covered in blood, leather coat dripping and guns hanging from his belt.

Smoke. His weapons were still smoking.

Dirt. His face was caked in grit, broken and nearly defeated. A patch covered one eye.

“My god.”

His voice, like a dream.

It was Duncan.

I forced my eyes to open and found his one good eye -filled with tears.

Suddenly he was closer, so close; he had dropped to his knees and gathered me in his arms, holding my head upright as I faded once more.

Instinctively I tried to reach for him but failed. I slurred when I tried to speak his name.

He was like stone. When he spoke, his voice was soft, like a warm blanket. “Let’s go home, Little Friend.”

I wanted to look at him, to talk to him, but the drugs were too strong. My eyes closed on their own once more and I was out.

The next thing I felt was weightlessness; he’d freed me from my chains and cradled me in his arms, bridal-style.

Next I smelled the rain, felt a shock of cold, wet air that woke me briefly. Opening my eyes, I saw his look of determination. He looked straight ahead, the rain cutting rivers through the dirt on his face and mixing with the blood from his lip and cheek.

I tried to speak but could only manage a moan. He looked down sharply at me, alarm and fear in his eyes. “Stay with me,” he begged as he moved through what looked to be a forest.

Blackness overtook me once more, for a long, long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a quick one but I promise the next few are really going to get good :)


	8. Recovery

_When he arrived at his cabin, he deposited her in his bed, panicked. What had they done to her? He saw the drugs when Blut had shown him those photos, but was that all they did? He’d wished he could have killed them all twice when he thought about it too long. But he had to focus on the task at hand, which was getting her well enough to wake._

_It was freezing outside, but those assholes had stripped her down to a tank and panties, and he knew well enough to keep her warm. So he ran to the closet and grabbed a flannel shirt to put on her, sat her up gently and threaded her arms through it and laid her back down. He did the same with an old pair of flannel pants to cover her lower half, and covered her with the blanket that lay at the foot of the bed._

_Her breathing was shallow and the sheen of sweat on her skin meant that she was coming down from the drugs they’d pumped into her, but there was no telling what damage had been done. He had basic medical equipment there for his own needs: an IV and fluids, and antibiotics which he hooked her up to as soon as he brought her home. But all he could do now was wait._

_He knew she would wake up - she had to. The thought of any other outcome made him sick to his stomach. So for hour after hour he sat at the foot of the bed, hunched on the tiny ottoman the previous owners had left there, and watched her, never moving except to replace her IV and move to a different chair where he could keep an eye on her._

_A few times he panicked when he thought she wasn’t moving; her breathing was so slow he got up a few times to check it, his heartbeat stopping in the seconds between her breaths. But every time, she’d gasp shallowly and sigh, causing his whole body to go hot with relief. She didn’t stir, just slept, her body fighting off the chemicals that they’d pumped into her all week._

_The sun came up and moved entirely across the horizon, and began to set once more. He grew increasingly worried and began pacing, thinking maybe if he made noise she would wake up. She had to eat, too… it was a nightmare, watching her and being unable to do anything about her situation. The whole week, he’d focused on getting her back, but now that he had her, he realized that getting her was the easy part. Now he had to make sure she survived._

_What had happened to him, he marveled as he watched her chest rise and fall with each tiny breath. He’d been ready to retire, just disappear into the woods. His whole life he’d avoided getting attached to anyone. Because every time he tried, it would end badly. Why did he deserve to be happy after all? He’d convinced himself that happiness was for people who didn’t murder people for money. He’d gotten what he deserved and then some._

_But then she came along and made him question it. All of it. Even his own system, his beliefs on why he did what he did. It infuriated him and invigorated him in equal measure. He never realized how much more possibility the world held until he saw it from her perspective._

_How could someone come into his life and change everything so fast? He promised himself that he’d ask her one day, after she woke up._

*

When I came to, I was in a bed with Duncan in a chair at my bedside. He was slightly cleaned up but the cuts on his face and eyepatch remained. He looked like he’d been through hell. Like me.

When he saw me move, he shot up out of the chair to come to my side. “You’re alright?”

Shifting in the bed so that I sat up, I winced - I was in pain all over. It took my breath away. “Sore. What day is it? What happened?”

He gave a shaky sigh of relief - a sound i never thought I’d hear come from him - and stood up straight. “It’s Friday afternoon. I found you last night. You’re safe now,” he explained.

“Who were those people?” I asked. “What happened to them? What happened to _you_??”

He looked torn. “I’ll tell you everything in time. Right now you need to rest.”

I was confused - still fuzzy from the drugs and sleepy, but hungry now, and I couldn’t focus on anything for too long. He would explain everything? But where did those people go...?

“Are we safe?” I asked, unable to hide the panic in my voice.

He smiled kindly, “Never safer.”

It made me pause, seeing him smile. When I snapped back to the present, I started to form more questions but got lost in mid-thought.

I gave up trying to chase my memories, and instead gave into my growling stomach. “Can I have something to eat?”

He smiled gratefully, relieved that I was thinking about food. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

He left the room and that’s when I realized: I was in his clothes - and in his bed. This was his space. His flannel shirt - I lifted the comforter and found flannel pants too. He’d dressed me. I felt gritty; I needed a shower. But I was warm and relaxed. I let my head fall back into the pillow and breathed in his scent there: mint and his musk and leather.

I closed my eyes for a bit and drifted back to sleep.

When he returned, the smell of eggs and toast woke me up before he could; I breathed in deeply as I opened my eyes and smiled at the sight of him with a tray of food.

I dug in hungrily, so relieved to be safe and with Duncan now. The memories of what happened over the week filtered in and out of my head as I ate and he sat nearby, watching me.

“How is your head?” he asked delicately.

I paused, focused on thinking for a few moments. “It hurts. I can’t focus on anything for too long. And I keep having flashes of what happened, memories that I’m not even sure are real.”

He nodded. “That’ll pass. So will the pain.”

I took another bite and looked at him sadly. “What happened,” I asked, pointing to my eye.

He weighed his response. “Occupational hazard.”

I felt uneasy at the thought, my stomach turning. I set the platter aside. “Who were those people and why did they take me?”

He looked pained as he took the tray away and placed it on a small table nearby. “It will be hard to understand now. Do you think you want to get some more sleep?”

He was putting it off. The memory of what they did caused a sudden flash of rage to take over me.

“No, I want to know what the _fuck_ happened to me and why.”

He was shocked into silence, his face a mask.

I immediately regretted that. Where did it come from? “Duncan, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that, I...”

A sudden pain shot through my forehead and nearly took my breath away. My hands flew to my temples and I tried to breathe through the pain.

He responded immediately. “It’s alright, it’s the drugs they gave you... let me get you some aspirin.”

He disappeared and returned from the bathroom with a glass of water and two pills, which I accepted and took gratefully.

“I hate this,” I said, frustration and exhaustion finally pushing me to angry tears.

He looked at me with such sadness in his eyes. His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out and touch me; I wanted him to. But he wouldn’t. I knew he couldn’t.

Instead, he spoke softly, with a warmth in his voice I hadn’t yet heard. “I know, Little Friend. I promise it will get better. But for now, try getting some sleep. You’ve had a hell of a week. I’ll be right outside if you need me, alright?”

I was touched by his sweetness. “Okay. Thank you.”

He stepped out to get me another glass of water, which he left on the bedside, and retired to the next room. Just before he left the room I felt a pang of panic-

“Don’t go too far?” I asked, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be. “Please?”

He paused in the doorway and looked at me sadly, tenderly. “I’ll be right here in the den.”

I nodded and laid back down, watching him as I did. My eyes never moved from him as he settled on the couch near the fire - I needed to see him. My anxiety was too high to relax without him in my sights.

Suddenly a thought occurred to me: the window. I was entirely exposed here. Immediately the panic rose in my chest, and I shifted in the bed, sitting up. What if they came in through my window? He was too far away, he’d never get back in here in time, they’d kill me... My breath quickened and before I could stop it, a panic attack wracked me, full force. All I could do was shout his name, just once, through my terror.

When he turned to find the fear in my eyes, his brow creased in concern and he strode purposefully back to my bedside. The cold sweat, the shaking, the heavy breathing; it all subsided the moment he was there next to me. The relief that washed over me next reduced me to a weeping mess.

I felt so childish. Hot tears stung my eyes. I covered my face and collapsed back into the bed. He crouched down to be near me. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry...” I began, unable to even speak.

“Shh,” he began, coming eye to eye with me. He still wouldn’t touch me, I noticed. It made the ache in my gut for him throb with need.

I sniffled and let a single sob escape my throat. He looked on with such pity, absolutely distraught over what to do. He wanted to help but didn’t know where to start.

“It’s alright,” he offered, resting a hand on the bed next to me.

I blinked back a new wave of tears and nodded. When I found his hand, I slipped my hand over his, surprising him. I needed to feel him; any part of him, something warm and human and safe. He wouldn’t touch me but I would touch him.

The relief and realization dawned on him as he looked down at our hands; now he knew what he had to do.

Standing, he moved to the end of the bed where he grabbed the chair and pulled it to the bedside. I watched, slightly wary of what he’d do.

When he sat down right next to me, he held out his hand once more. It wasn’t perfect but it was the best he could offer. And his face said as much.

I looked up at him from my place in the bed and accepted his hand gently, sliding my fingers around his large calloused palm. My tears finally subsided, I focused on his fingers and shifted to wrap my other hand around his as well; cupping his one hand with both of mine.

He looked down at me and squeezed my hand, his brow creased. A wave of affection for him washed over me. I could see it in his eyes: he couldn’t give me more than this but he wanted to. He was torn. I stared back at him, wishing he could read my mind.

“It’s alright,” he repeated, weakly. “I’m not leaving.”

And with that, i closed my eyes and was able to fall asleep and rest, finally.

*

_He stared for a good long time, watching her chest rise and fall in her sleep. But when she woke, he’d have to admit what he was. Or if not then, soon. She wasn’t going to be satisfied until she knew, and he felt she deserved the truth. At the very least she deserved that._

_But what would it do to... this. Whatever it was they had, he wondered. She wouldn’t want to associate with him, he knew that for certain. But would he have to disappear and start over again? Would he be safe? He’d have to leave, it was the only way... unless he could stay there with her. He’d killed the last of his Damocles associates, but he hadn’t taken the care to bury many other mistakes along the way. Something was bound to come back..._

_She stirred in her sleep and tightened her grip on his hand, breaking his train of thought and bringing him back to this moment. With a heavy sigh she settled deeper into sleep while hugging his hand, so desperate to touch him, even in sleep. It calmed his stormy mind just to see her cheek in the blue moonlight, to hear her breath, deep and even._

_He’d tell her the truth, he decided then. When she asked, he wouldn’t spare her any details, and he was ready to accept his fate. With that decision made, he quieted his thoughts and instead focused on memorizing every last detail of her. It was probably the last time he’d have with her before she learned the truth and never wanted to see him again._

_Her hair was a rats nest thanks to her time in captivity, but he knew it was soft and silky; he’d seen it at her art show. And her eyes - even though they were closed now, he remembered their sparkling blue from the moment he first saw her all those months ago. The way they shone when she laughed._

_Her skin glowed in the moonlight that came in through the window; it looked so soft that he fought a random urge to stroke her cheek. He wanted to so badly, just once; he’d have to wait until she was awake. To touch her without her permission would be inexcusable, he told himself._

_As he focused next on her hands and the way they wrapped around his, he found his eyes growing heavy with sleep. He was exhausted, and finally able to rest after more than a week of searching for her, a week of torture and no sleep. His whole body relaxed, and soon he was nodded off just as he thought about what it would be like to hold her hand outside, in the snow, maybe on a walk through the forest..._


	9. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, buckle up... things are *happening* in this chapter!

When I woke again, it was dark. And Duncan was still in the chair beside me, hands wrapped around mine in sleep.

Strong moonlight filtered in from the window behind me through the heavy curtains. The clock read 8pm - I had only slept for a few hours but was still so tired I could have closed my eyes and slept for another day.

I shifted, my hands slipping from his, and gasped at the pain that shot through my ribs at my attempt to move - I was even more sore now.

At the sound of my gasp, Duncan woke with a start. Immediately he was alert and on guard. “What’s wrong?” The concern in his voice warmed me, despite the pain I was in.

I winced as I sat up. “Nothing. Just sore...”

He relaxed slightly and smiled. “That will pass.”

We sat quietly for a while. I wanted to hold his hand once more; he’d shifted and glanced down at his hands in his lap but couldn’t find a reason to reach for me again now.

Instead, I moved to sit up and winced at the pain. “What can I get you?” he asked, standing.

I blushed. “I need to use the bathroom.”

He blushed too, embarrassed. To lighten the mood I also tried to smooth my hair out, found it a mess. “And I need a shower.”

“Perhaps we should start with standing.”

It was as good a goal as any, I figured. Slowly I slid my legs off the bed and squinted down at my Duncan-made outfit. I looked back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

He blushed again. “I didn’t want to go to your place for clothes and leave you here.”

I smiled at his thoughtfulness and suddenly remembered - “Sam...!”

He anticipated it. “I brought him here. He’s fine. He’s out in the living room by the fire.”

For some reason, this was what made me well up with tears. Of all the things that had happened, all the kindnesses he’d paid me... I sobbed in happiness and relief.

He looked confused and worried, “I’m sorry... ?”

I laughed, “No, it’s... thank you,” I sniffled and wiped my nose. He relaxed slightly.

“I just... I’m relieved he’s okay. And that you brought him here, that’s... so sweet. Thank you.”

He realized now these were happy tears and nodded. Then suddenly he remembered something.

“Oh! And...” he disappeared into the living room and came back with his hand behind his back.

“You dropped this.”

He held out his palm and revealed the stuffed cat he’d gotten me for my birthday.

I stared at it. He cared so much. A flush of warmth flooded my whole body.

I took the beanie cat from his hand and looked up at him, tears blurring my vision. I couldn’t even think of the words to express how much it meant to me. Words were pointless. If my eyes could talk they’d tell him everything I felt for him.

He knew. With a small nod, he changed the subject.

“Would you like to try walking?”

I nodded. He held out a hand for me to balance on and I accepted, exhaling hard when I stood at the rush of pain.

“Good,” he offered encouragingly.

He watched intently, ready to help as I took one step slowly, then another. My legs burned and ached, and I couldn’t put pressure on the left one... but we walked together out to the living room where he deposited me into the small chair by the fire.

As he settled sat on full sized sofa nearby, I wasted no time - now that I could think clearly, I needed to know.

“When you found me. Back at that house... you were covered in blood, had all those guns...”

Now we were getting to it, his face said.

“... You were never in the funeral business, were you?”

He looked at me like he was trying to read fine print at the back of my eyes. He had a decision to make.

“No.”

I stared. I wasn’t going to ask and he knew he had to tell.

“I was an assassin.”

The air left the room. I heard my heartbeat in my ears. He was a what? Absurdly, I felt the urge to laugh - or maybe cry? It made no sense and perfect sense, all at once.

After a few seconds, my brain got back into working order and the questions started coming to me hard and fast.

“So.. those people that took me. They were...”

He settled back into his chair, ready to explain.

“Former business associates.”

I processed this.

“Why did they take me?”

This was a long story, I could tell by his wind up. But I was ready.

“In my line of work, you retire at 50 and collect your pension. My retirement put a price on my head that these young guns wanted a piece of. They tracked me down and tried to kill me once, and I thought that was it. But they must have seen me with you. And that’s how they knew they could get me out of hiding - by coming after you.”

My head spun. The room tilted around us. I knew what the rest of the story was, but had to hear it from him.

“So... because they took me...”

He looked at me with fear in his eyes - he was afraid of the next question but knew it was coming and couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“You killed them?”

His brow softened. He didn’t want my opinion of him to change. It wasn’t something he was proud of. My eyes searched his. I knew what he was going to say but had to hear him say it.

“Yes.”

I swallowed hard; my stomach lurched. He was a _killer_.

He looked at me with shame and apprehension, trying to gauge my reaction.

The thought was terrifying... at first. But the more I thought about it, as I looked at him and remembered all the things we did before - the wood chopping, the stuffed cat, the birthday cake - I realized he wasn’t _just_ an assassin.

“Is it easy to kill a person?”

He was surprised by my question. His face shifted and I watched him work through the guilt of everything he’d ever done. When he found his answer, he looked back up at me and spoke clearly.

“When it’s the only choice you’ve got.”

And that’s how I knew he wasn’t really an evil man.

I moved - slowly - from my chair to join him on the sofa, and he looked visibly relieved that I wasn’t afraid of him.

“Did you kill them all?” I asked. If I had an assassin on my side, i had to be sure he did his job right.

He seemed even more relieved at that.

“Yes.”

“The big guy with the braid, and the Asian woman and the red headed guy? And the man with the accent, and the girl with the drugs?” I hated all of them, couldn’t even remember all of them, but I needed to know they weren’t coming back.

His eyes were kind now; he could tell I was afraid.

“Every last one.”

The anxiety in my chest floated away. I sighed in relief.

“Good.”

His brow lifted in surprise. “Good.” His voice said the word as a statement but his face was a question.

I was resolute. “Good.”

It was his turn to feel relief, his face relaxing and his shoulders falling.

To be sure he knew how I felt, I leaned over and threw my arms around him in a big hug, causing him to fall against the arm of the couch.

It took a few seconds for him to realize what was happening, but when he did, he responded by wrapping his arms around me too.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my cheek pressed against his chest. “You don’t even know me and you saved my life.”

He was speechless. He didn’t expect it to go like this, but there we were.

He tucked my head under his chin. “I _want_ to know you…”

I lifted my head to find his eyes; he was looking at me warily, as if afraid he’d said something wrong. He didn’t.

“I want to know you too,” I replied. He let a small smile slip out, just a twitch of the corner of his mouth.

I decided to go for it and sat up, still so close to him. “What’s your favorite color?”

He thought about it for a moment, looked at my eyes.

“Blue.”

My eyes were blue.

My heart beat fast.

“Yours?” he asked.

I thought about it, looked at his face, his hair, his stubble…

“Gray.”

I smiled as he realized what was happening and smiled too; so much for getting to know each other.

I moved on while I was ahead.

“I think I’d like to shower now.”

He stood - almost too ready to move. “I’ll get you a towel.”

I winced. “Do you think I can go back home to shower? I’ve put you out long enough here.”

He looked at the floor.

“It’s destroyed. The locks, windows… they wrecked it all. The team I hired to fix it all can’t come until Monday,” he said sheepishly.

I, on the other hand, was impressed. “A team?”

He wouldn’t meet my eyes, nervous and shy once more.

No matter. “Can I at least get some of my things, you think?”

He hadn’t seemed to think of that. “Of course. Let’s go.”

He gave me a pair of sweatpants and one of his jackets and hats, even a pair of boots to wear just to trudge the 50 feet to my cabin, but I thought it was sweet - and the chance to wear his things was too good to pass up.

As I walked - slowly, still - into the cabin, I gasped: they’d completely trashed the place. Broken windows, smashed my lamp and a chair… I was so mad I could cry.

“Fuck,” I said, wanting to be mad but crying instead.

Duncan was right beside me. “It’ll all be fixed Monday. I promise. Do you have a suitcase?”

I sniffled and focused on him instead, his determination to keep me positive so endearing.

We found a suitcase and loaded it up with clothes, my jacket and boots, cat food and other essentials, before returning to his place.

It was strange: where stepping through my broken front door made me feel violated, walking back into his cabin felt like home.

Duncan was kind enough to let me use his shower, where I stepped under the water and let it warm me, down to my bones.

Stripping myself out of his clothes, I gasped at all the damage they’d done to me. The marks on my arms from where they injected me, bruises all over my ribs and arms from the attack. My legs were even worse; black and blue everywhere, one ankle swollen badly. Even my face - my cheek was split where they’d cracked me in the face to knock me out the first day and had bruised up nicely.

After the steam fogged the air, I stepped into the shower. The water felt so good; after being so cold for so long and thinking I’d die from hypothermia while I was strapped to that cold radiator the whole week, I never wanted to get out.

I used his soap, a gel that smelled like leather - that’s why he smells like that, I thought with a smile - and scrubbed and scrubbed until my skin was raw. It was like washing away the whole mess of the past week.

Finally I lathered up my hair and scraped my nails along my scalp, bringing goosebumps to my arms. I felt almost reborn as I let the water soak my hair and rinse away the soap, leaving me clean and new.

I stood under the water for a few more minutes, just soaking in the reality of where I was: safe, with Duncan, who I was pretty sure I had feelings for, and possibly who had feelings for me too.

I laughed to myself as I turned off the water - what a strange, wonderful place to be. After I toweled off, dried my hair and climbed into fresh sleeping clothes I’d brought from my place, I emerged from the steamy shower to find Duncan in front of the fire in the smaller chair, staring at the flames. He turned to see me in my hoodie and shorts and smiled.

“Better?”

I hummed in happiness, “So much better.”

I sat on the couch across from him and felt my body relax once more; it was after 9 at night and I was still so tired, even after sleeping most of the day.

He must have noticed my dazed look into the fire. “Close your eyes.”

I blinked and looked over in a daze, smiled when I saw him. “I will, I’m just... soaking it in.”

He nodded with a smile, “I’ll leave you to it then. Be right back.” He excused himself to his bedroom as he shrugged out of his vest, ready to de-layer for the night.

In the meantime, I stared at the fire, feeling my whole body relax now that I was safe and clean and that I had a pretty good idea that my feelings for Duncan weren’t going to waste.

When he didn’t return after 10 minutes or so, I got curious and got up to investigate - and found him asleep on his bed, splayed on his back as if he passed out between taking his boots off, one shoe still on, one on the floor nearby.

I laughed quietly to myself, covered my mouth to keep it in so I didn’t wake him; he was utterly exhausted. I wondered to myself about how long he’d been awake for, and what he’d done in the past week to find me. He was so busted up, I couldn’t imagine what he went through.

I wasn’t going to wake him. But I didn’t want to be alone.

Instead, I shut the fire down in the living room and turned off all the lights, double - and triple - checked his locks, and joined him in the bedroom.

Gently, I knelt down and untied his other boot, slipping it off easily and moving both under the bed.

Finally I climbed gingerly into the bed above him, curled on my side around his awkward position so that I could watch him sleep. I didn’t dare touch him. I just took in the details of his face, every little cut and scar that made him who he was. His sheets and blankets smelled like him. He radiated warmth.

His chest rose and fell gently, his breath even and deep; he was sound asleep.

Tentatively I reached out and brushed some stray hair from his forehead, then settled back into my position, my eyes getting heavy.

I let them close and focused on the sound of his breathing instead. Just knowing he was there gave me butterflies in my stomach and calmed me. I felt safe again for the first time in a week - so safe that I fell asleep right there next to him.

Some time later, I heard him sigh and woke quickly; I didn’t want to upset him by being there. As I sat up, he opened his eyes and stared at me blankly, like his brain was booting up. In the next instant, he seemed to forget where he was and shot up out of the bed on high alert to face me with murder in his eyes.

I gasped in surprise and shouted, “I’m sorry!” as I scrambled backwards to get away. In the same instant, he realized what he’d done and his anger immediately dissolved to shame.

“Jesus, no, I’m sorry, I…”

Hugging my knees, I watched him return to normal and felt my heart rate slow down again. When I relaxed again and spoke, my voice sounded smaller than I wanted it to.

“Old habits die hard.”

He sat on the edge of the bed heavily and rubbed his temples. He wouldn’t respond. He was exhausted and mortified at his behavior. And haunted, still, apparently.

I gave him a few moments. To diffuse his anxiety, I rested my hand gently on his broad shoulder and felt sparks at the contact.

He looked down at it and back at me, his brow melting in relief. The sigh he let out next told me everything he couldn’t say.

I took a leap and said what was in my heart.

“You don’t have to keep the walls up.”

The realization crossed his face slowly, like a cloud moving over the sun. As he turned to look me right in the eye, he spoke. “I don’t, do I?” He seemed to test the words.

I smiled encouragingly and shook my head. We’d been through hell and back together. The pretense we had for holding our feelings back was obsolete.

With that realization, he sighed, his brow creased…

… and he pulled me into his arms before sinking into the pillows with me. I’d wanted this for so long. It felt so good to fit perfectly into his body and breathe him in as he rested his chin on top of my head. His scent intoxicated me. Warm happiness spread through my body like a glass of good wine.

With my cheek pressed against his chest, I felt his strong heartbeat and heard his voice rumble, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I thought so too,” I couldn’t keep my voice from cracking as I remembered the whole ordeal.

“I won’t let anything like that happen again.” He stroked my hair gently.

It was surreal, being in his arms, in his bed, breathing him in. A week ago I wouldn’t have thought it possible. But now it felt so right, like this was where I was meant to be.

After a moment I pulled away by a few inches and watched as his gaze moved over the lines of my face, as if memorizing every part of me.

This was happening, I thought with relief and wonder. It was finally happening.

He dared to bring his hand around to cup my face and stroke my cheek with his thumb. I winced lightly; I must have been slapped or hit in the face while they had me hostage because my cheeks physically hurt to the touch. He noticed and lightened his touch.

“If I could kill them twice for what they did to you, I would.”

His voice was like velvet but his words like venom. The effect sent a shiver through me. I never took my eyes off his.

We had turned a corner.

I reached up to brush his hair from his forehead and traced the line of the eye patch he wore. Tentatively I slipped my finger under it, moving it slightly; I wanted to see his eye again. I managed to get one nail under the bottom of it when his hand flew to my wrist.

I continued to tug upwards gently and he released his grip, allowing me to pull the patch off and over his head.

The scar underneath was deep and red: an angry gash straight across his face that bisected his eye on the diagonal.

My brow creased in sadness at the state he was left in and I sighed, “Oh.”

He was almost ashamed. He found the patch and put it back on then looked at me with his good eye, and seemed to steel himself before asking, “Where did you grow up?”

I was confused at first; how did that have anything to do with....

Then suddenly, the way he looked at me, it reminded me: We were still playing the “getting to know each other” game.

“Maine,” I replied, a smile spreading across my face.

He returned the smile.

I resettled for the conversation now. “What about you?”

“Denmark.”

I laughed out loud without meaning to; it was just so funny how different our answers were!

He laughed too, and followed up, “What was it like growing up in Maine?”

I calmed my giggles and smiled thoughtfully as I contemplated my answer. No one had really asked me that. 

“It was good. Happy. We’d go to the beach in the summer and I remember the smell of the suntan lotion my mother would smother me in, but I’d still get burned every time. I had lots of friends in school that I’d play in the snow with every winter. There was a big hill up the street that we’d sled down after every storm....” I smiled as I lost myself in the memories.

When I came back to the present I found Duncan there looking at me, his smile so relaxed.

“How about you? What was Denmark like?”

It was his turn to look thoughtful. After a few moments he spoke. His voice was soft, his eye focused on the middle distance. “I was raised by my grandfather, out in the country, and so I spent a lot of time in the woods alone, coming up with stories to entertain myself. But I remember going into town every month and getting a caramel at the candy shop,” he smiled distantly and closed his eyes as if he could taste the sugar.

“And now I’m back in the woods,” he finished softly.

“But you’re not alone.”

My reply made him pause; there really was no mistaking it now. We felt the same way.

I closed my eyes and smiled beatifically; but it was hard to stay awake now that I was so clean and warm and back in bed. He must have noticed, and smiled too.

When I caught his smile, I flirted a little, “What are you smiling about?”

“You.”

He took the response right out of my mouth.

“Sleep now. Tomorrow you’ll feel better.”

I hummed in agreement. “You will too. They’re all gone now, remember?”

At this, he seemed to pause as if he’d forgotten. The small smile that curled the corner of his mouth gave me butterflies. “I remember.”

I closed my eyes and smiled, my words coming out in a happy sigh, “Good. Gnight.”

All I heard was the sound of the smile in his voice as he replied, “Gnight.” And then I was asleep once more.

*

I woke in the middle of the night - 3:04 by the clock - and had a moment of panic. I was disoriented, having had a nightmare about being drugged and held hostage again.

It was dark, the only light was the moon filtering through the window on the far side of the room. My breathing calmed eventually, and when it did I heard his soft breath next to me and felt a wave of relief wash over me.

He remained on top of the comforter, draped in a blanket but facing me, eyes closed in peaceful sleep. He hadn’t wanted to disturb me by moving the sheets around so he’d laid down like a ghost next to me and kept watch, and had fallen asleep just like that. I caught myself smiling at how sweet he looked in the blue moonlight, a surge of desire for him working its way up from my core.

Could we ever be... more? Together? After all the pining I did for him before this all started, I wouldn’t even know where to start with someone like him, I mused. But I’d be willing to try.

After a visit to the bathroom I slipped back under the covers once more. My movement woke him, gently this time, causing him to sigh awake and hum. Before his eyes were even open, he murmured, “What’s wrong?”

I was touched - I was the first thing he thought of. “I had a nightmare.”

At this, his eyes opened and he woke fully. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

I didn’t want to be needy. I shrugged. “No sense in us both being awake.”

His brow creased in concern as he shifted slightly closer and looked down at the space between us. He sighed, his voice low, “You’re safe here. I want you to know that.”

When he looked back up at me, his eyes were warm, searching. He was sleep-mussed and pliable; his emotions weren’t as guarded as he hovered near the edge of sleep again. It was endearing, and made me want to disappear in his arms even more.

I nodded. “I know that.”

I sidled closer to him.

He nodded too. “Good. If you get scared again, will you tell me?”

I couldn’t stop myself, and reached out to rest my hand on his chest. When I looked back up at him, his eyes were shocked. He looked afraid to move.

I nodded.

He nodded back. “Good.”

I couldn’t take it any longer, and tucked myself back into his arms, my head resting against his chest. He hesitated for the briefest second, then settled with his arms around me, holding me protectively.

After a few moments, I finally asked.

“What did they do to you when you came for me?”

Silence.

“Nothing you should concern yourself with.”

He tried to remain tight lipped but finally relented when I looked up at him.

“They bound my arms and legs. Strung me from the ceiling for six days,” he began.

I was horrified.

“Each day, the leader would torture me in a different way. First, he took a small blade and sliced into my arms like paper cuts, inch by inch.”

I gasped, looking down at him and realizing that I’d only seen him with long sleeves since he’d rescued me.

“Next he used a pair of pliers to cut me, all along my chest and my shoulders.” Tears welled up in my eyes at the thought of what pain he was in under his clothing.

“My god,” I couldn’t speak, could only cry at the thought of the torture he endured.

He was stoic.

“I didn’t want to upset you,” he began.

I looked between us at his chest and realized it must have still been so raw. I caressed his chest tenderly. “Does it hurt?”

When I looked up I found him watching me. “Your hands will never hurt me.”

He was continually surprising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and we're off!


	10. New Normal

By Monday afternoon, the team of workers Duncan had hired to fix up the door and windows of my cabin were done with their work, and I was able to return home for the first time in nearly two weeks. It felt good, but I wasn’t enjoying not seeing Duncan as often as I did when he was helping me recover.

I invited him over for coffee one afternoon and we played cards again, and a few days later he brought over a wonky loaf of homemade banana bread that he was so proud of - yet we discovered to be raw inside when we sliced into it for an afternoon treat.

These “dates” were basically the only thing keeping me going, but I wanted more. He seemed to want it too, in the way he never touched me now, and in the way he seemed to put extra effort into his clothes and hair when we saw each other.

We’d shared some special moments in his cabin, but it seemed like the spell that was cast during my recovery time had been broken - or rather, we couldn’t seem to recreate that same magic, even though we both knew something was there.

After a week of delicately pretending that we hadn’t shared some borderline intimate moments, I finally realized: I was going to have to ask him out. Of course he’d be too shy, how stupid could I be to think he’d do the asking? He had proven he wasn’t against “going out” when he came to my art show, but I had to ask him then too. So my mind was made up. When I saw him the next morning during his weekly firewood delivery, I’d ask him to dinner.

When he came by as planned, however, he threw a wrench into my plans almost immediately.

“Thanks, Duncan, I appreciate you doing this,” I said as I stood on the porch, watching him unload his truck.

He wiped his brow after dropping the last bundle and paused, looking up at me with those soulful eyes. “What are you doing for dinner tonight?”

I froze: was he asking _me_ on a date? Right before I planned on asking _him_? I stuttered, “I- uh, I have no plans for dinner. Er, I mean, I plan on _eating_ dinner, but I have- nothing. No plans for the actual... dinner.” He had a way of turning my brain into mush in the best way possible.

He smiled slightly at my clumsiness and replied, “I’d like to take you out to a movie, and then to dinner in the city, if you’d like?”

At this, my eyebrows popped up. Not even the diner in town, but a real meal in a real restaurant in the city? Butterflies did flip flops in my stomach and I couldn’t suppress my smile. “I would love that, yes.”

He smiled again, wider now, and gave a nod as he turned to leave. “Six tonight? I’ll come get you.”

I nodded, “I’ll be ready.”

And with that, we had a real date!

*

He arrived at my door right on time, and surprised me by wearing his sharp black suit and a shy smile - with a small cluster of flowers wrapped in twine in his hand.

“Duncan, you look amazing,” I couldn’t stop my excitement from coming out just a bit at the sight of him with his hair slicked back and the crisp lines of his suit highlighting just how handsome he was.

But the look on his face the second I opened the door told me all I needed to know: he liked what he saw just as much, if not more.

Frozen, he looked down at me and seemed to snap back to the present, holding the flowers out and saying in a voice that sounded like he’d been underwater and just come up for air, “And you are... so beautiful.”

I blushed and took the flowers, and invited him in while I found a mason jar for the flowers. We made small talk after I finished up and we walked to his truck, and the entire way to the movie theater we took turns starting a conversation then lapsing into silence; we were both so nervous knowing this was a “date”.

But thankfully the movie gave us a chance to sit quietly and share some popcorn. The old film was a classic; the theater played old movies each week and this week’s selection was a beautiful story about a man and a woman falling in love on an island. By the time the credits rolled, I was more than ready to sit with him at dinner and see where the night took us.

Over dinner, he opened up about some of his background, sharing memories that touched me, and I replied in kind by sharing my own thoughts and dreams. Each turn in the conversation brought us to a new, deeper understanding of each other, and I found myself truly falling for him. Once or twice during the evening, I had to resist the urge to lean over the table and pull him in for a kiss. The desire to touch him was so strong that I found myself unable to concentrate by the end of the meal.

After we finished and headed home, we stood next to each other waiting for the street light to change on the way back to his truck. The air was warmer than usual for this time of year; the rain and warmth made it seem almost like spring. A part of my heart swelled at the thought when I suddenly felt his eyes on me.

Turning to find him there in his suit, all cleaned up and handsome, I had a moment of clarity. For so long he was this unknown person, a new presence in my life that I knew I liked but couldn’t get used to. Now, standing next to him at a stop light, seeing him in his suit, it felt... normal. Like we’d been doing this forever. Like he had always been a part of my life and always would be.

It did something to me. And I saw it reflect in his eyes too - we both felt it, whatever it was.

The light changed and the crowd of people moved around us to cross the street, but we didn’t move. He looked down at me with burning eyes. He didn’t know how to say it; I could see the words right behind his lips.

“I want to kiss you.”

The words came from my mouth before I could stop them. I heard them as if someone else said them.

But as soon as they left my lips, his chest swelled. He’s been waiting for this. And rather than say anything, he took a step closer, slipped his hand around my neck, thumb along my cheek, and paused for the briefest moment.

I looked back up at him, frozen, not even daring to breathe, lips parted in uncertainty. I didn’t want to do anything to break the spell. 

And finally, his lips were on mine, completely taking me over for a perfect, deep kiss. I met him with the same intensity and tasted all of him, marveled at the bristly feeling of his mustache scratching my upper lip.

The sound of the traffic, the cool breeze, the people around us; all of it faded to nothing as he kissed me deeply, our tongues tangled together.

His hand moved from my cheek to the back of my head where he threaded his fingers in my hair and held me fast against his lips.

I hummed at the delicious feeling of being completely his and wrapped my own arms around him, my thumb brushing against his stubbly cheek.

A car horn broke the spell, and we parted, short of breath and mesmerized by what had just happened. We’d turned a corner but didn’t know how to get to our next destination.

He was visibly confused on how to proceed. “Would you like to come back to my place... for... coffee?” he asked, uncertainly.

It struck me that it must have been some time since he last took a girl on a date. But I was going to make sure it wasn’t the last.

*****

After our movie and dinner date, I found myself on Duncan’s couch once more, in a dress and knee high boots, a far cry from the last few nights I’d spent there in his borrowed clothes like death warmed up.

A storm rolled in now, lashing the side of the cabin with sheets of rain, thunder rolling over the mountains every few minutes and charging the air. He bustled around in the kitchen and returned after some time with coffee and cream and sugar, even though we both took it black.

Outside, the storm picked up as we sipped at our coffee and made distracted small talk about the film we’d watched and the restaurant we ate at. I sipped slowly to make the night last, he seemed to do the same.

“I’m getting a little tired,” I finally ventured as I neared the bottom of my cup, watching his reaction as I continued, “but I don’t feel like going back out in that storm.

His eyes flashed - not with fear but with the revelation that I was asking if I could spend the night without asking.

He recovered quickly. “You should stay. Take the bed,” he replied, almost too quickly.

I stifled a laugh, then grew serious. “I don’t want to impose and kick you out of your own bed.”

He surprised me - and himself - with his response: “I could stay in it.”

A muted smile spread across my lips. “That works.”

He gave a nod and that was that. Once we finished our coffee, he took care of business in the bathroom and I realized now was my chance. Before I could lose my nerve, I moved right into the bedroom, took off my boots, and sat on the edge of the bed, butterflies jangling in my stomach.

I heard him finish and step into the hall, then the sound of his footsteps as he realized I was no longer in the living room. Slowly, he moved to the bedroom and my breath caught in my chest. His silhouette in the doorway caused me to turn and search for his eye in the dark; I could sense his apprehension.

“Hi,” I said, to ease the tension. My voice sounded smaller than I’d wanted it to. Maybe I was a bit nervous too.

He moved closer, stopped at the opposite edge of the bed and avoided my gaze. I spun so that I was cross legged on the bed now, facing him with a small smile. “I can sleep on the couch if you’d like.”

He looked up, stricken. “No, it’s not...” His voice lost steam as he spoke; he was just nervous, plain and simple.

He sat down heavily with his back to me for a moment, suddenly unsure of how to lay down like a normal person.

I laughed to myself lightly. He turned and realized his error, looking like he would curse himself if he could.

To break the tension I lay down first and smiled at him, an unspoken invitation to join me. He laid back, facing me, settling into the pillow with a sigh. His nerves calmed just a bit when he found me there, but he was avoiding my eyes. That’s when I realized he was nervous because I was watching him.

So I smiled and turned my back was to him, and tucked myself against the front of his body to be the little spoon to his big one.

As I settled, I felt the tension melt entirely from his body, his arm coming up around my waist and his head resting above mine. His warmth was delicious. I hummed in happiness; I’d never felt more safe.

His voice rumbled against my back. “Why do you want to be with me?”

I wished I could see him, but knew he couldn’t stand to be seen when he felt vulnerable like that. So I just smiled to myself and stroked the arm he had wrapped around me. “Because you’re kind to me. And because I like you.”

“I’m an old man” he began. But I didn’t want to hear it, and cut him off.

“You’re interesting and strong and smart...” I trailed off, afraid to finish my sentence. But not having his eyes to look into made me bolder too, so I did:

“And you’re so handsome it hurts.”

I blushed even as I said it, and felt a flush of heat move through me; whether it came from me or him I wasn’t sure. But when he spoke again, I could hear the smile in his voice.

“No one’s ever said that about me.”

I shrugged, “Then they’re blind.”

He lay silently behind me for a few minutes, thinking about how to say what he wanted to say. Finally, he spoke softly.

“The first time I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. And then you said hello in the pharmacy, and I realized you were so much more than beautiful."

I couldn’t believe my ears. My heart swelled in my chest at his admission. But he continued.

“You were so kind. You glowed. I didn’t even deserve to stand in your shadow.”

Unable to take it any longer, I turned back around to face him, my brow creased in a silent question. He looked almost sad as he remembered not feeling worthy. But when he found my eyes, his expression shifted to one of awe, and he continued.

“But you didn’t think that. You just shone even brighter, so I could feel your warmth no matter how hard I tried to hide from it.”

Knowing that he felt this way opened up a whole new side of him; of us. I was struck.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice a whisper.

My mouth opened but no words would come; he’d rendered me speechless. I could only nod, and leaned in to cover his lips with mine. It was the only thing that made sense in that moment. And apparently he thought so, too.

The tenderness was overwhelming; the floodgates opened between us. We kissed for what felt like hours, exploring each other’s mouths. We soaked in the sounds of each other’s soft hum of pleasure - when I stroked his chest over his shirt, or when he slid a hand up my thigh and gave me goosebumps. There was no urgency, just a slow, delicious exploration that eventually became a languorous worshiping of each other’s bodies.

Eventually, we fell asleep like that, twined with each other and satisfied to simply be lulled into blackness by the sound of our even breathing.


	11. Yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter is basically a smut fest. Like... unabashed, completely egregious, and delicious smut that I refuse to apologize for and hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it.

A few days later, I had grown tired of waiting to see Duncan again so I offered to make us a nice dinner. But he surprised me by counter offering to cook instead, a new recipe he’d found while searching for his unsuccessful banana bread recipe the week prior. I agreed, and the next evening, we found ourselves sitting at his table after a delicious meal he’d cooked by himself, from start to finish.

We were chatting about the movie we’d seen earlier in the week and working on a bottle of wine when he reached for the bottle and knocked his own glass over, spilling the dregs into his shirt with a soft curse.

“Damn,” he hissed, standing. I joined him, reaching with a napkin to blot what I could - the stain was already blooming over his chest, darkening the light gray of his sweater.

“Why don’t you get that off and I’ll give it a soak while you change?” I asked.

He looked struck - someone helping him seemed to be a new concept. But he was into it. “Sure, yeah,” he said as he did what he was told, leaving to change into a new undershirt as well.

After I soaked the sweater in the kitchen sink with a tiny bit of dish soap, I figured he’d be changing in the bedroom, so I took the opportunity to use the bathroom. But when I opened the door, I jumped, gasping a quick “Oh! Sorry,”: he was in the middle of tugging a new undershirt over his head, and entirely exposed.

But when he turned and I got a full look at him, my mouth dropped open in shock at the countless scars that covered his body.

“My god,” I exhaled, unable to tear my eyes from him. Dozens of tiny little v-shaped cuts, maybe fifty of them, were scattered all across his chest, with deeper wounds curving around his shoulders and back. Even his ribs bore markings old and new, from white scar tissue to pink welts that looked fresher and even more painful.

He lowered his gaze, almost ashamed. I was speechless.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

I thought I misheard him. “What?”

He hung his head, unable to meet my gaze. “I didn’t mean for you to see this.” He motioned to himself.

“It’s not...” I began, unable to form the words.

I moved closer until I was directly in front of him.

He was remarkably made. His chest was solid, shoulders broad and strong. The sinews in his neck were even more apparent now that he wasn’t wearing his usual turtleneck sweater. I wanted to touch him; any and all of him. My fingers burned.

The scars were terrible - and he earned them, some of them, at least, for me. But his body was incredible, scars or not, and i needed him to know I thought so.

Before I could think twice, my hands were on his bare chest, fingers gliding gently over the scars there. He let out a breath he’d been holding as the heat from my fingertips moved over the sensitive skin around his ribs and to his back as I stepped closer and pressed myself against him.

With my lips just inches from his chest, he murmured a halfhearted, “No...” But it was too late. I let instinct take over and placed a single kiss directly over one of his scars. He inhaled sharply, afraid to touch me back. But I was undeterred; the taste of his skin only spurred me on.

I let my lips linger and lazily ran my tongue along the sensitive skin that had grown over an old wound. Placing another kiss further down his chest, I smiled at the sound of his sigh in my ear.

Bringing my gaze up to meet his, I found him looking at me with pure, uncut desire. His eyes burned my skin. I’d dreamed about him looking at me like this, I thought to myself. Now it was finally a reality.

And it was ten thousand times better than I’d imagined.

“You’re gorgeous,” I whispered, hoping he could feel my desire. Now that I had pushed us into this new level, it was up to him to join me.

My heart skipped a beat when he brought a hand to my waist and squeezed gently. The pressure brought me closer to him; so close I could feel his excitement through his jeans.

”Where did you come from?” he asked incredulously, a half-smile on his lips.

I smiled back, “I told you already. Maine.”

He laughed - god, I’d never tire of his laugh!

I took advantage of the break. “I’ll get us more wine?”

He nodded. “That would be nice.”

I returned the nod and flitted to the kitchen where I poured us two more hearty glasses. Dinner had been his idea, but staying for drinks was always in my plan. Judging by the way the evening was going, the thought had crossed his mind as well.

When I came back into the living room with our second glasses of wine, I found him standing in front of the fire in a fresh sweater, as if braced for something. It was strange seeing him like that, almost intimidating.

He watched me with his head tilted downward, eyes following me. He seemed taller. I locked onto his gaze with my own.

A rush of heat flowed through me and I realized: it was happening. It was no longer a question between us; we knew it was going to happen, it was just a matter of when. And ‘when’ was now.

I put the glasses down on the coffee table and faced him, waiting. I wasn’t doing the talking right now. I needed to know how he felt. When he spoke, I knew.

“I want to kiss you.”

His voice was low, smoky and heavy with want. It took my breath away.

It was exactly what I said to him before our first kiss.

My heart felt like it would beat out of my chest. Looking up at him, I felt small but powerful.

Just like he did the first time we kissed, I reached up and threaded my hand around the nape of his neck, fingers in his thick hair. Tugging him down to my height, I tilted my face up to his and responded by kissing him hungrily.

Our lips met and it was like a bolt of electricity surged through his veins, urging him to wrap his hands around my waist and kiss me even deeper. This was no longer the reserved, shy man I met on that snowy Saturday. He was taking charge and I loved it.

He slipped his tongue into my mouth and sent a delicious throb of heat to my core; I moaned lightly at the new sensation and pressed my body against his. After all of the times I‘d dreamed of doing this, the reality was a thousand times better. My mind swirled in anticipation and all I could focus on was the taste of him.

He tightened his grip on my waist and walked me backwards towards the bed, where I broke the kiss to sit heavily and watched as he tore his sweater off. What he revealed made my stomach flip flop: he was gorgeous; carved out of stone. I’d never tire of seeing him naked.

I followed suit, and after a brief pause, realized I wasn’t going to have a chance like this again, so I shimmied out of my jeans and boots too, leaving myself in wool knee socks and my bra and panties.

He watched in awe as I climbed back onto his bed and faced him. The sight of me in his sheets seemed to freeze him. He stared, soaking in every new detail of my body that he could, finally finding my eyes.

I looked at his zipper expectantly, then back at him. The small smile on my lips gave him the nudge he needed, and soon he was tossing his pants into the corner with my clothes and climbing between my legs.

I smiled as he paused, hovering over me, and took his face in my hands. Inches from his lips, I whispered - so there could be no doubt in his mind: “I’m yours.”

With that, fire flashed in his eyes and he dove in to kiss me, softly at first, tentatively, then - as I responded to his touch - with increasing urgency. The bristling of his mustache against my skin sent shivers down my spine and made me smile against his lips. I slid my hands down his back to his ass, pressing him close to me and grinding.

We moved like liquid, hands caressing shoulders and hips, learning the curves and hollows of each other’s bodies. I ran my fingers over the small scars that covered his arms and back, gliding over his ribs as our tongues tangled and our breath quickened.

When I moved my hand to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, he sighed against me, breath flowing across my chest and giving me goosebumps. I loved hearing him respond to my touch - and felt him respond too, as his cock grew hard against my stomach.

Breaking gently from the kiss and breathing heavy, he looked at me like he was looking at a painting for the first time, eyes tracking over every detail. I reached up and brushed some hair from his forehead, completely taken by him.

“Your eyes have little stars in them,” I sighed.

He blinked slowly and placed a soft kiss on my lips, “Only...” another kiss on my neck, “... since you came along.”

I smiled to myself as he worked further down, leaving a trail of kisses over my heart, against my ribs, and where my panties began. Kneeling on the bed between my legs, cock tenting his briefs, he tugged my panties off easily and dove into my sweet spot without hesitation.

My inhibitions were completely forgotten as he slipped his tongue between my folds and lapped up my juices hungrily. My surprised gasp turned into a moan for him, my legs shaking in pleasure.

His mustache scratched the sensitive skin there as he worked me into a puddle, circling my clit and humming against me.

I lifted my head to look down at him and found his eyes already locked on mine. The sight of his face between my legs caused a fresh spike of pleasure to shoot through me; I’d dreamed of him like this but never thought I’d see it for real. Now he was there, his tongue expertly swirling around my clit and making my legs shake.

I hummed and let my head fall back into the pillows. He dove even deeper, fucking me with his tongue. The sensations sent me reeling. It was more incredible than I could have ever imagined, being worshipped by this impossibly gorgeous man.

Unable to take it any longer, I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled him up to taste myself on his lips. He broke away from the kiss and breathed heavy, searching my face for a brief moment.

I couldn’t help it; seeing him completely undone, my slickness coating his face, sweat beading on his forehead, it was all too much. I wanted him to own me.

“Please fuck me.”

His eyes went cloudy with desire at my command.

And he obeyed.

Looking down, he wrapped his hand around himself and pressed against my entrance. I lifted my hips just slightly to accommodate him and ran my teeth over my lip as he finally broke through, sinking into my plush heat and letting out a broken sigh; a grateful and vulnerable noise from the back of his throat that filled my heart.

Holding him inside me made me feel so complete. It was like I’d been empty, and he filled the broken parts of me. We fit together perfectly. Our breathing synced as he pulled out gently and stroked back down deep to my core.

Instinctively I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer so I could feel all of him. It was divine. His hair fell in eyes that were clouded and unfocused with desire. He wanted nothing else but to lose himself in me, and I in him.

In and out he moved, picking up speed with each thrust. I hummed deliciously and adjusted my hips to bring my knees up around him. As I scratched my nails up his back, I pulled him in for a kiss and sucked on his tongue as if to devour him.

Hand around my waist, he rolled so that I straddled him, cock still buried inside me. He hummed in pleasure as I settled atop him.

The control I had over this new angle took my breath away; he was quite large and it had been a while since I last slept with someone.

He sensed my tension and held my hips, squeezing them in satisfaction while he exhaled, “Go easy.”

I hummed and sat back, slowly rolling my hips and hitting new spots with every move. The pleasure was almost too much. He made me feel like a queen with the way he worshipped every inch of my body.

“Fuck, yeah...”the words spilled from my lips like liquid as I rocked now, the pressure on my clit making my stomach clench in impending ecstasy.

In response, he smiled wantonly and slid his hands gently up my ribs to my breasts where he massaged.

With each roll of my hips, he thrust deeper and harder. I whined; I wasn’t far off now. The cords in his neck tightened and his breath quickened as he matched my speed. I gasped as I crept up to the edge of my release... and looked down at him.

Just the sight of him undone beneath me, the feeling of his rough hands on my skin, the fullness of his hard cock within me and the taste of the salt on his skin. He moved with intensity now, prompting me to grind harder against him.

Finally, just when I thought it couldn’t get any more delicious, he licked his thumb and swirled it around my clit, bringing me to a shuddering orgasm. I called out to God and moaned for him, my breath coming in gasps as my core clenched around him and pleasure rocked through me in hot waves of color.

His hips slowed as I did, his eyes soaking in every expression on my face as I came down. He milked my release from me slowly, drawing it out and loving the shudders of pleasure that rolled through me as I came down.

When I opened my eyes again and found him there, covered in sweat and skin glowing, I wanted to give him everything in that moment.

So I moved to kneel next to him on the bed and wasted no time, taking his slick cock in my hand and bringing it to my waiting mouth.

With a strangled moan, he watched in awe as I swirled my tongue around the crown and tasted myself all over him, taking him in my mouth entirely and sucking.

He reached down with both hands and moved my hair from one side to the other, holding it in a ponytail so that he could clearly see. I looked up, mouth full of his cock, and found him watching me with such intensity it made my skin burn.

His desperate sighs pushed me to treat him even better, pulling away only to go back down on him, working the underside of his dick with my tongue as I took him down my throat almost entirely.

He sucked in air through his teeth, his hips jerking up and causing me to back off slightly, but I doubled down and moved even further down, my nose touching his stomach.

Finally, I pulled out my favorite trick and hummed with him lodged in my throat, the vibrations sending him reeling. He cried out once then his breath caught, choking out just one word: “Yes...” before his hips stuttered under me and i felt him throb: he was coming.

Backing off, I sucked on him hard and found his eyes as he pumped jet after jet of his warmth down my throat, his groan of release echoing around the cabin.

I swallowed every last drop, his moans sending another wave of pleasure through my core. His chest heaved as he came down, watching me in disbelief as I cleaned him up with my tongue and kissed him while he softened.

Finally, I collapsed on my back next to him and rested my head on his stomach, sighing and wiping the sweat from my brow.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for months,” I sighed as my breath returned to normal.

He panted, a laugh escaping his throat. “If only I could turn back time.”

I laughed and rolled to my side, tucking my legs up on the bed and grabbing the sheet to fend off the chill.

It was incredible; hours ago we had been uncertain - or rather, we were certain we wanted to do this but unsure if we had the courage to make it real. And now here I was, the taste of his cum on my lips and my stomach cramping from being fucked so deep. He threaded his fingers through my hair absentmindedly and draped it over his stomach. Lounging on him was so comfortable.

He dropped his hand to my knee and caressed it. “Are you really real?” he asked.

I laughed lightly and looked up at him with a smile, “Are you?”

He smiled and closed his eyes in satisfaction, head sinking back into the pillows. “You know you can never leave this cabin now, right?”

I didn’t look up but smiled to myself. “Why’s that?”

“Because you’re mine. You told me yourself, earlier tonight.”

I looked up at him and smiled, then down at his hand on my leg. I picked it up and threaded my fingers through his, examining the scars on his hand.

“You’re not wrong,” I mused, my head rising and falling with each of his breaths. “What do I get in return?” I asked, playfully.

“Me.”

I pretended to pause and consider his offer. “Hmm...”

After a few moments of silence, he tickled my ribs lightly and I finally conceded, “Okay fine. Deal.”

I could hear the smile in his voice when he hummed, “Good. Then we’re agreed. You’re mine and I’m yours.”

I turned my head to look up at him with a smile. He was watching me with such tenderness, it made my heart skip a beat.

Now that we had an agreement, I settled back into his stomach on my back and looked back down at my nails. He lazily played with my hair and brushed his fingers through it. The silence between us was warm, content.

This other side of him was so surprising. I never wanted this to end. But then I realized that it wouldn’t have to; not now that we were together.

“The fire is dying,” I mused from my resting place on him, slightly chilled.

“I’ll get it,” he murmured, moving beneath me.

“Don’t get up, I’ve got it,” I insisted as I stood up, entirely nude. He hummed as he watched me - it made me smile, hearing him content like that.

The chill now nipping at my skin, I reached for the nearest piece of clothing I could find - his oversized sweater, thrown on the ground, which fit me more like a dress - and slipped it on to pad out to the living room and add more wood to the fire.

After I did, I knelt with the poker, moving things around to help the flames grow and warmed my hands for a few seconds.

When I stood back up, I found him standing right next to me, still naked, looking down at me with an intensity that made my skin burn.

I jumped and let out a little gasp. Christ he was gorgeous without clothes on, I thought to myself once I got a good look at him. It caused a spike of arousal to shoot through my core.

He didn’t move. He just spoke, his voice low as he gave a small nod behind me.

“Get up on the table.”

I looked at him uncertainly. Did I hear him right?

When I didn’t move, he took a step closer, causing me to take a step back and bump into the nearby table. I inhaled sharply, looked back and up at him again. His eyes were locked on me. He looked hungry.

“Get. On. The table.”

That’s when I realized: he was ready again.

A flush of heat ran through my body and I immediately obeyed this time, sliding my ass onto the wooden table we’d had breakfast and played cards on. My legs dangled. He gave one nod; I’d done well.

Knowing I’d pleased him made me so hot. Did I have a submission kink?

“Lift your arms,” he instructed coolly.

Again I obeyed, and he responded by taking the edge of the sweater in his huge hands and tugging it up and over my head, leaving me completely exposed to him again.

I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander. His cock twitched when my gaze landed on it, growing for me before my eyes.

Finally, he took another step closer and kissed me, slipping his tongue into my mouth easily and sending me reeling.

My lips were still raw from our lovemaking earlier, but I hummed against him and scratched my nails down his back. As soon as I tasted him once more, it was like I couldn’t get enough of him.

He responded by nestling between my thighs and wrapping his hands around my hips to pull me closer; his hardness pressed snugly against my soaking wet slit. I rocked my hips against him to encourage him.

He broke from the kiss to sigh deeply; the feeling was almost too much for him. He tightened his grip on my waist and dipped his hips over and over again, stroking up and down to coat his cock with my wetness.

I whined and leaned back on my elbows, giving us both a perfect view, and let my head hang back.

He wrapped a hand around himself to rub up and down my slit, “Do you want this?” His voice was husky, hoarse.

“Please...”

With determination, he pulled me closer to rest his forehead against mine. Finally, he slipped inside me easily, a desperate grunt spilling from his throat as my soft warmth enveloped him. I let out a gentle moan, the tail end a whisper: “Ahhh fuck...”

The thick ridge of his cock stroked me all the way down as he filled me to the hilt. This new angle allowed him to go deeper than before. I gasped and saw stars when he hit my back walls. It sent a spike of pain and pleasure through my body.

He tightened his grip on my neck and shifted his hips to start fucking me, his eyes unfocused with desire. “You really want this?” he whispered through clenched teeth.

I responded by squeezing around him and wrapping my hands around his shoulders, “God yes, please,” I whined.

It was all he needed to hear. Immediately he pounded into me, watching as I fucked him right back with intensity. He found my eyes with his, his grunts of effort turning me on even more.

The pleasure took me over from the inside out; this was a whole new world of sensations I’d never felt before. We rocked against each other like animals. Where our first coupling was tender and sensual, our second tryst was different in every way: loud, reckless, filthy. I wanted him to wreck me entirely. He pumped his hips in time with mine, sweat beading on his forehead as he looked down at the sight of his cock disappearing deep within me and re-emerging, coated in my slick excitement.

I needed a break so I wouldn’t come too fast, so I eased up and lay back down on the table, his hands trailing over my breasts and my stomach as I did.

But before we could catch our breath, he redoubled his efforts: he surprised me by bringing one of my legs up over his shoulder to open me up even more and - in a move that shocked me - stepping up onto the table with one leg to get better leverage. With one hand on the table and the other around my waist, he pulled me closer and fucked me deeper than I’d ever been fucked in my life.

His first thrust brought me off the table and nearly made me black out. The squeal I let out at that new sensation only caused him to drill me harder, a choked moan escaping his throat: “Fuck!”

I grabbed the edge of the table to keep from sliding back as he pumped again and again, our cries getting more frenzied. Every new angle he hit brought me new waves of ecstasy, my release just beyond the horizon.

Finally, his hips stuttered and he choked out my name and I knew - he was coming. The thought alone now sent me over the edge too, and together we climaxed again, shaking. With a sharp cry I milked him, the feeling of his warmth deep in my belly bringing me wave after wave of pleasure.

As he came back down to earth and the twitching of his hips stopped, he stood back up and released my leg. He panted, looking down at me as if contemplating what to do next. I sat up, chest heaving, legs dangling.

“Are _you_ real?” I asked this time with a panting laugh.

He blushed and wiped the sweat from his brow, leading me back to the bed where we both collapsed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets.

I looked at him with hooded eyes from my place in the crook of his arm. He was truly something else, I thought. He stared right back at me, his expression unreadable.

“What are you thinking?” he asked quietly, my lips inches from his. He looked down at my mouth and back into my eyes.

I contemplated not saying it but I had to, I couldn’t pretend anymore.

“That I’ve fallen for you. Head over heels.”

His lip twitched in a surprised smile. He hesitated, then spoke with resolve:

“I’ll catch you.”

My heart skipped a beat. I’d worried over what his reaction would be. But I had my answer, and the feeling was mutual.

“What are you thinking?” I asked quietly, staring.

His eyes sparkled. He replied as if he were waiting for me to ask, “That it took me 50 years to finally feel alive.”

I stroked his hair behind his ear and rested my hand on his scruffy cheek, pulling him in for a soft kiss. 

Alive. That was exactly the feeling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and there we have it! In all of its smutty glory, I hope you enjoyed! I'm a big fan of slow burns with explosive finales, and I'm pretty sure that's what we have here. Let me know what you liked most in the comments - or if you want to see more from these new lovebirds!


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